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Summary:

In modern day London, Tom finds a dark-haired boy lying unconscious in the snow in front of his Children's Home. The circumstances of his appearance are suspicious to say the least, just as the fact that the boy doesn't remember anything apart from his name: Harry.

How can this boy resist his powers? What was this green light when he appeared out of nowhere? Tom is determined to solve the mystery of Harry, but if he's not careful, he might find more than he bargained for.


A story spanning more than a decade, exploring the slow growing bond of two boys that everything opposes. If length doesn't scare you off and you like thorough character development, then welcome to a tale of obsession, mystery, hope, and love found even in the darkest of places.

Chapter 1: The first day of the rest of your life

Chapter Text

The street in front of Wool's Children's Home was dark and silent, the snow swallowing every sound in the oppressive night. Despite this rare blessing of calm in a city that was normally filled with traffic sounds at all hours, one window on the second floor was still lit. Behind it, a nine year old boy was lying on his bed with his eyes wide open. Tom Riddle — because it was his name — knew he should try to sleep. It was already past midnight, and if he was too tired tomorrow, the others could take advantage of it. 

But he was far too busy making Jack Renshaw's toy car swirl in the air above him. 

The toy was shaking a little, but Tom still felt elated. He was practicing his gift every night since he had gotten his new room and was making leaps of progress. He could control it better and better. 

In the private corners of his mind, he was secretly calling it Magic . It wasn't, of course. Magic was for children who believed in Santa Klaus and in fairy tales. His gift must have a scientific explanation. Who knew, maybe he was born of a secret government experimentation program, like in the animated series that passed on the telly on Sunday mornings. 

But Tom was, after all, a child, and "scientific experiment" wasn't as wondrous or alluring as " Magic ". 

Wherever it came from, whatever it was, Tom was determined to master it. 

This was why, when the quiet night was pierced by a cracking sound and a bright green-ish light zapped outside the window for a second, Tom was the only one to notice. He startled and the toy car fell none too gently on his face. Groaning and rubbing his nose, he got out of bed and went to the window to see what it had been. A car accident, maybe? 

The strange light was already gone, leaving behind a darkness that Tom's eyes could barely parse. There weren't many street-lamps in the neighborhood. The street was silent once more, no sign of a car except for those that had been parked all night with a layer of snow on them. There was strictly no movement outside. 

Tom frowned. A less self-assured child might have thought he had dreamed the sound and the light, but Tom was perfectly confident in his senses. The universe was trying to pretend that nothing had happened, but it couldn't fool him. He narrowed his eyes and stuckhis face against the icy glass, scrutinizing the street with determination. 

His heart gave a jolt when he caught sight of a small shape, just in front of the steps of the Children's Home. It was lying in the snow, barely visible in its stillness. 

A trickle of curiosity seeped through his wariness. What was this? Had it produced the sound and the green light? 

Tom wasn't one to restrain himself when something caught his interest. Before any more questions could come to his mind, he had put on his shoes, grabbed his scarf and coat, and was out of his room. He avoided the cracking steps of the wooden stairs with practised ease and soon found himself opening the window next to the front door. The latter was locked after seven o' clock, but the supervisors never thought to secure the window — a well known secret amongst the older kids. 

The light from the hall fell on the form that was slowly being covered by the snow. 

It was a child. 

Tom boggled for a moment, taken aback. Then he went down the steps and lowered himself near the head of the child. 

He didn't recognize him from Wool's. It was a boy roughly his age, with sweet features and dark hair. He was in nice blue pajamas and his eyes were closed peacefully, like he was simply sleeping instead of courting hypothermia. 

"Hey," said Tom, slapping him softly on a cheek that was still a little warm. 

The boy's head lolled, but he didn't react. His chest was rising and falling, so Tom knew he was alive. Though maybe not for long, considering the biting cold. 

A breathless thrill ran through Tom as he looked down on the boy. This child was at his total mercy. If Tom left him to die here, he would be found in the morning and nobody would know Tom had been here at all. Tom had never seen a human being die, not with his own eyes, not for real. Wouldn't it be interesting to watch? It was the perfect opportunity, really. 

He darted a look at all the windows around the street, worried that someone might be watching. No, there was no one in sight. And surely, if an adult had seen them they would have intervened by now. 

Tom's gaze went back to the boy's face. He kept staring as the snow fell on them. 

He didn't know why, but the more he looked at the boy, the less he wanted to just let him die. It felt like a waste, somehow. And wasn't the way he had appeared suspicious, with this sound and this green light? If Tom let the boy die, he would forever wonder what had happened. 

His decision was made before he even realised it. After a last curious glance at the boy, Tom got up and went back inside to get help. 

After all, if there was something Tom could never resist, it was a mystery. 

 

 

֍֍֍

 

 

He was floating in the clouds, gently drifting in an ocean of peace. 

He had been floating since… forever, probably, but lately, things had started to change. The clouds were becoming brighter, some weird shapes appearing and moving behind them.  There were sounds reaching him, now. And sensations too : softness, warmth, a dull pain that disrupted the peace… 

"Hey, there," said a soft feminine voice. "You're finally awake. How do you feel?" 

He remembered that he had eyes when he opened them. The clouds went away slowly as he came back to the real world. White walls and the blurry face of a young woman with freckles and bright blue eyes appeared above him. 

"You slept a long time, Mister," she said with a smile. 

Harry noticed that he was in a white hospital gown and that an IV was pumping a clear liquid into his right arm. The room they were in was quiet, though other voices and sounds could be heard outside, like the hospital was quite animated. He was glad these people weren't here right now; his head was throbbing

"I'm Martha," said the woman gently. "I'm a social worker at Wool's Children's Home and we are at Queen Mary's Hospital. What's your name, sweetheart?" 

"Harry," he croaked, before hesitating. The name had rolled off his tongue without any thought, and he was learning it at the same time as the woman. In truth, he couldn't remember if that was really his name. 

He couldn't remember… anything. 

"Hello, Harry," said the woman. "Can you tell me your surname, also? We found you in front of the Children's Home, but you didn't have any ID or papers with you." 

They had found him? Harry searched inside his mind for an explanation, and panic started to rise when he couldn't find anything. Not just his surname, but who he was, where he was, or anything about him! He felt like he had lost something huge, like he had lost a whole universe, but he could only feel the edges of the hole and not what had been inside. 

"I don't know!" he whimpered, tears gathering in his eyes. "I don't know!" 

"Shh, shh…" said Martha, petting his head with a worried frown. "It's alright, Harry. What do you remember?" 

"Nothing! I remember nothing!" 

The hand on his hair stopped with a shocked silence. Martha leaned more toward him. 

"Nothing? Not even your parents?" 

The question was a blow to his stomach. Parents? He understood the word, no problem there. People were supposed to have parents, he knew that. But when he searched for his own, he only found a terrible emptiness. 

"No!" he cried. 

"Shh… shh… do you remember how you arrived at the Children's Home?" 

"No!" 

What was happening to him? He knew, knew in the deepest part of his heart that there were people who loved him somewhere. People that he loved in return. But where were they? Why couldn't he remember them? 

His crying was about to fall into hysterics but the woman took him in her arms, whispering soothing words in his hair while she rocked him slowly. "Shh, Harry, shh… It's alright. Maybe the memories will come back later. Don't think about it right now. I shouldn't have asked right away. I'm going to fetch a nurse, tell them you're awake." 

When Harry managed to calm down a little, Martha did just that and returned with a male nurse who took his vitals and cheerily announced that he was "fit as a fiddle." His face, though, fell in shock when Harry revealed that he didn't remember anything apart from his name. The man gave him some painkillers when he complained about his head, and then left, saying that a doctor would come in shortly. 

"Shortly" ended up being two hours later. Harry filled this waiting time by making small talk with Martha, or rather, she making small talk while he nodded from time to time. After his earlier fit of tears, she didn't push him to participate or ask any probing questions, for which he was grateful. Bone weary, he ended up falling asleep again, waking up occasionally to find Martha reading a magazine peacefully beside his bed. 

Finally, the doctor came and Harry endured his visit by shutting out most of what the man said. He was nice, but seemed obsessed and worried by the fact that Harry's identity was unknown. He was pestering Martha with questions, not Harry, but it didn't make much difference. The memory loss was also clearly troubling him, which made Harry think: at least we agree on something . Harry had to get a brain scan and do several weird tests, like pressing stress balls in his hands or writing down the alphabet. This took most of the remaining morning and beginning of the afternoon, and at the end the room was quite crowded, with two doctors and three nurses alongside Martha and him. 

"He's healthy," said the original doctor to Martha while scratching his head. "The brain scan is normal, the motor and cognitive functions are working. It's like his unconsciousness left him perfectly functional but erased his personal memories." 

"Will I get them back?" asked Harry. 

The doctor gave him an awkward, pitying smile. "It's entirely possible. Young brains recover better than old ones. But I can't tell you when, or… or even if it will happen. The best would be to find a familiar environment to jolt your memories, but…"

He ended his sentence with a grimace, and everyone present imitated him, Martha and Harry included. A familiar environment . Harry probably wouldn't recognize a familiar environment if he saw one, in the state he was in. 

"If we could at least find someone who knows him…" said a woman, the second doctor. 

Martha sighed, looking apologetically at Harry. "The police are trying. But no one reported a missing child matching Harry's description yet. All they can do is go door to door in the Children's Home neighborhood to show his picture and ask if someone recognizes him." 

"Maybe someone will come forward," said the nurse from before with an hopeful tone. 

"I'm sure they will," said the woman doctor. She was wringing her hands, but when she noticed it she stopped abruptly. 

In the end, the doctors announced that they couldn't do much more and declared him ready for discharge. The question was, of course, where he would go. 

Two women from Social Services came to the hospital and asked Harry many questions, to which his answers were almost always "I don't remember". After some debate, it was agreed that he would go to this Wool's Children's Home where he had been found, at least temporarily. When asked, Harry gave his agreement. Maybe seeing the place would "jolt" his memories. He tried not to think too much about the fact that Children's Home sounded a lot like Orphans' Home . A place for orphans. The word seemed to fit him in a scary, familiar way, like well worn clothes. Had he not had parents before? But then, why did he feel a hole in his mind where he was sure his memories of them had been? 

Martha and Harry left the hospital around 5 p.m. The hospital had found him some discarded children's clothes so he wouldn't have to leave in the pajamas that were his only possession. Well, almost. 

"That's a pretty necklace," said Martha when he removed his hospital gown to put on the yellow sweatshirt he had been given. 

He looked down, following her gaze. Indeed, a pendant hung on his chest on a simple, rough string. Harry took it in his hand and followed with a finger the metal symbol in which it was carved. A stick, inside a circle, inside a triangle. The metal was hot from resting against his skin, and Harry felt some foreign emotion swell inside him while looking at it. Some part of him recognized this symbol. He tried to follow the feeling, but it was like grasping at strings of smoke. All he could gather was one predominant impression: important

"Thank you," Harry finally said to Martha, before putting on his new sweat and tucking the pendant under it. 

Then, they were off. They took a bus and after that had to walk ten minutes to Wool's Children's Home. On the way, Harry caught the looks that Martha was giving him regularly. She was on alert for any sign that he remembered something. 

They stopped when they arrived in front of the big, tired, grey concrete building that was Wool's. Harry felt… 

Nothing. He had apparently been there last night, and yet he could have sworn he had never seen this place. Martha noticed his disappointment and visibly stifled her own. 

"Don't worry," she said with a bright smile, rubbing his back. "It will come back. Come on, let's get you to Mrs Cole. She's the Director." 

The hall of Wool's was clean but clearly in lack of funding. The paint had maybe been green some decades ago but was now slightly evoking the color of vomit and was peeling off in flakes. The linoleum had had some decorative designs that were now completely faded, and the front desk, bench, and false plants all seemed depressed to be here. The place was empty, but voices and movement could be heard beyond the hall and on the upper floors. 

Martha led him to a door on the side with a plaque reading Lilian Cole, Chief Director . After knocking, a curt voice invited them inside. 

An older woman was sitting behind a desk buried under piles of paperwork. She had a sharp, severe face with brown hair cut at the jaw.  "Ah, you brought him back already," she said to Martha, looking at Harry. She then addressed him directly: "Harry, is it?" 

Harry nodded shyly. 

"Martha tells me you don't remember anything apart from your first name?" she asked in a demanding tone. 

Harry's chest constricted, but nodded again. This time he was able to let out a breathy "Yes".

"Hmm…" she said, eyeing him critically. "That's unfortunate. But I'm sure it will come back to you. The hospital suggested that it could be amnesia caused by shock, so Social Services recommended that you see a psychologist to talk about it. We'll get you an appointment as soon as one frees up — they are quite swamped, so it may not be right away. In the meantime, you'll stay with us. God knows we are already bursting at the seams, but it can't be helped. Martha will show you to a dormitory. Did she explain how this place works?"  

Harry shook his head, sending an apologetic glance toward Martha. Mrs Cole nodded and continued in a well practised speech. 

"Here we shelter children or teens that can't be with their families and don't have a place in foster care. We value respect, independance and hard-work, so we don't have a janitor — we all do our share of the chores. You'll have to participate each day in one duty: either cleaning, laundry, cooking, gardening, or helping with the smaller children. You'll also go to school as soon as we get a feel for your education levels. I suppose you don't remember in which class you were before…?" Seeing Harry's look, she shook her head. "Alright, no matter. The school will test you. You'll be expected to do your homework seriously and ask for help if you need it. Otherwise, you will have free reign to do what you want in the confines of the establishment. Only kids above thirteen have outdoor rights, so you'll stay inside or be punished. There is a yard, a play room and a study room. No shouting, no running inside, and no stirring up trouble with the other children. Understood?" 

Harry nodded shakily. 

"Good." She looked back down into her paperwork, dismissing them with the air of someone who had a thousand more things to do before the end of the day. "Martha, you can take him to the Blue dormitory. I don't think he's much older than 8 or 9." 

They left her scribbling furiously at her desk and Martha led Harry down the hall, past a room where children were lounging on a sofa in front of a telly or playing babyfoot in what looked like a fierce competition. They went up to the second floor, coming across children of all ages that were chatting in their rooms with the door open, mopping the floor, or chasing each other, causing Martha to scold them for running inside. Harry received many curious stares that made him want to hide, but luckily they soon arrived at the door of a long room on the second floor. The pale blue walls on each side had a row of beds aligned against them, and a blond boy of Harry's age was cleaning the only window at the end. He turned toward them when they entered, and his eyes widened excitedly. 

"Oh! Is it the boy from last night?" 

"What did I tell you, Dennis," said Martha while guiding Harry to a bed near the door. "We don't talk about people like they're not here, it's not polite. Finish your chores and then you can talk." 

"Sorry," mumbled the boy named Dennis. He turned back toward the window, but kept giving side-looks at Harry while working. 

Martha went to a big wardrobe and brought linens and sheets to the bed. "Here," she said. "Do you know how to make your bed, Harry?" 

"Yes." Once again, the answer came from an unknown place inside him--one he couldn't have found if he had wanted, but that seemed to volunteer information when needed. Well, some information. It was apparently very selective. 

"Great! I'll leave you to it, then. I'm sorry, but I must be off. Lots of work to do." She petted his hair once more. "Find me if you need anything. Supper is downstairs at seven, the bathroom is on the other side of the hallway, and bedtime is at nine. I'll find you a toothbrush before tonight. Alright?" 

Harry nodded, even if he felt a little lost at the idea of losing Martha. She was his only security in this strange new world. 

He watched her leave, and then turned to unfold his linens. As he worked to cover the thin mattress, he noticed the blond boy — Dennis — approach him. 

"Is it true that you were in a coma?" he asked with ardent curiosity. 

"I… don't know if it was a coma," answered Harry. "They told me I was unconscious, but…" 

"What happened to you? Did someone hit you on the head?" 

Harry clenched his teeth, lowering his eyes to the pillow he was trying to stuff into the pillowcase. "I don't think so." It was true that his head had hurt earlier, but the doctors would have noticed if he had been hit, wouldn't they? He passed a hand on his scalp absent-mindedly, but didn't feel any bump or wound. "I don't remember anything. Only my name." 

"Wow! Really? That's dope!" 

To each their own, Harry guessed. 

The voice of another boy suddenly came from the door behind him. "I don't believe him. I bet he's lying because his story is too pathetic to tell." 

The entrance was crowded with two other boys and a girl. The tallest one, a boy with curly hair and a crooked nose, was looking at Harry in disdain. The blond girl in braids next to him hit him in the arm. "Don't be mean, Eric. He just arrived!" 

The boy named Eric advanced toward Harry, followed by the two others. "So what's the story," he asked harshly. "You the son of junkies, or what?" 

Harry felt himself flush in embarrassment and anger. He chanced a look at the others, but they were watching him avidly, waiting for his answer. He straightened and glared at Eric. " I don't remember . You deaf, or what?" 

Shock passed through the children. For a moment, all was silent and even Eric looked at Harry in surprise. 

And then, he laughed. 

"I like him!" he said, hitting Harry playfully on the shoulder. "He's not a pushover." 

The other children relaxed while Harry eyed Eric with a narrow gaze, not sure that the affection was mutual. 

"Maybe Tom made you forget," said the remaining boy, ginger-haired and smaller than even the girl. He looked at Harry with fright in his brown eyes. "He can do that, you know. Maybe he did something to you." 

"Tom?" asked Harry. 

"Tom Riddle," whispered the girl like it was a secret. "He's the one who found you." 

Tom Riddle . Why did this name sound familiar? 

"You should avoid him," said Eric. "He's bad news." 

"Didn't he save me?" said Harry, nonplussed. 

"Must have hit his head or something," mumbled Dennis. "In his normal state he would have been more likely to pile more snow on top of you." 

Harry looked around the dormitory. "Does he sleep here?" 

Eric shook his head. "Thank fuck, no. He used to, but he got Mrs Cole to give him one of the private rooms last summer. I don't know how he did it, since the rules say you have to stay in the dormitories until you're ten, but good riddance anyway."

"He used to give us bad dreams," said the ginger boy, shivering. 

Harry wondered if they weren't exaggerating a little, but didn't voice this thought aloud. The girl introduced herself as Amy Benson and the ginger boy as Billy Stubbs. The three boys slept in this room also, and Dennis even had the bed next to Harry, which made him glad. Being surrounded by friendly faces helped to mute the voices inside his head that kept screaming: Where am I? Who am I? Where do I come from? What happened to me? The feeling that he didn't belong here wouldn't leave him. 

But then, who belongs in an orphanage? he thought. 

The little gang showed him how to do his bed according to Mrs Cole's standards, and then it was time for a tour of the building. Harry met some of the other children while his new friends took him to the kitchens ("The most important place to know", assured Dennis), to the dining hall ("Meals are at seven thirty, noon, five and seven everyday", Eric helpfully informed him. "Don't be late, or there won't be any food left for you."), the yard (a big but dreary patch of land at the back of the building, filled with wild grass, a meagre vegetable garden and a rusty swing), the laundry room ("The worst chore," moaned Amy. "I hate Tuesdays, that's my day of rotation."), and to the play room--the one with the babyfoot, the telly, some old toys in baskets, and a few books on the shelves ("Our age group has television rights from five to six on mondays and fridays, but you always have to kick out the Year Nines before," said Eric. "They always hog it to death.") 

A tall and burly man with dark hair and beard stopped them at some point, telling Harry's friends to get to their chores. Dennis and Billy were apparently supposed to be on cleaning duty, Amy on homework duty for the younger kids, and Eric on cooking duty. 

"See you at dinner, Harry!" said Amy, while the others waved and went on their way.

The tall man watched them go before rolling his eyes. "Any excuse to avoid their chores, these ones," he said with an undertone of fondness. He turned toward Harry, having to look down quite a lot. "You're the kid they found last night, ain't you?" 

Harry nodded, a little intimidated. The man smiled. 

"Name's Percy. I'm the handyman, though God knows that's not all I do here. You have a problem with your stuff or the building amenities, you come to me. Alright?" 

You don't look like Percy , was the immediate thought that came to Harry. But who was Percy and what he looked like, nobody knew. 

Harry nodded again with some delay, and Percy-not-Percy gave him a critical look. 

"If you don't have anything to do, you should go lie down, kid. You look a little pale in the cheeks, if you don't mind me sayin'." 

Harry agreed, afraid he was going to be drafted to one of the Children's Home duties if he didn't. He returned to the Blue dormitory — which was now empty — and sat on his bed. Soon, the weight of the day's events was pushing on his shoulders and he found himself on his back, gazing up at the cracked ceiling without really seeing it. 

He was more lost than he had ever been before. He didn't remember anything of his previous life, but he was certain of that. 

He pressed the butt of his palms against his eyes, willing them not to shed any tears. Remember , he had to remember ! The other children here were maybe separated from their families, but at least they had a past. Harry might as well have been born today. He had nothing, apart from a necklace. 

With a desperation akin to fury, he dug and dug through his mind for any sliver of memory. The headache returned full force, but he kept going relentlessly, exhausting himself. 

He didn't notice when he fell asleep. A forest came to take the place of the cracked ceiling, its thick foliage letting some moonlight pass through and bathing the place in an eerie atmosphere. This forest was very familiar. It felt not like home, but almost like the woods at the back of your house. It had always been dangerous, but tonight he knew (how you knew things in dreams) that a danger of another kind had invaded the place. A danger that he was walking straight to, sad but determined. 

I'm gonna die , Harry suddenly remembered with a mounting sense of horror. I'm gonna die tonight. 

"Will you stay with me?" he heard his own voice say in the ether. 

"Until the very end," answered a man whose face was invisible but whose voice brought confort, love and sorrow all at the same time. 

Then red eyes, and a flash of green that dream-Harry didn't try to dodge. When it hit, he sat up in his bed with a gasp. He blinked, and the outline of the dormitory slowly came into focus. He tried to calm his breathing. 

I'm not dead. I'm not dead. 

"Are you alright?" asked the voice of a boy. 

Harry startled and whipped his head to the side. 

Tom Riddle was leaning against the doorframe a few feet away, arms crossed and observing him with concern. Harry had never met the dark-haired boy, so he wasn't sure how he knew that this was Tom Riddle. But he knew

"Nightmare," he croaked. 

Riddle nodded. "It seemed like it. I was about to wake you, but you did it on your own." 

Perhaps it was because the boy was leaning against the doorframe without showing any sign that he had been about to move, perhaps because of the same intuition that had given him his name, but Harry knew that Riddle lied. He hadn't been about to wake him at all. 

The boy straightened and closed the gap between them, hand thrust forward. "My name is Tom Riddle," he said with a nice smile. "I'm glad that you are better. Everyone was very concerned, when you were taken to the hospital." 

Riddle's eyes were dark and fathomless. Harry felt himself pulled in like they were black holes and, in a flash, he saw Tom sitting on a bed in front of a man in a purple suit. They were both turned — of all things — toward a burning wardrobe. 

"He scares the other children," floated Mrs Cole's voice. 

"You mean he's a bully?" asked the man in purple. 

"He must be, but it's very hard to catch him at it." 

Harry blinked, coming back to the present moment. Tom Riddle still had his hand out, but he was starting to frown at Harry's lack of reaction. 

What the hell? thought Harry. Was he crazy, as well as amnesic? 

"Maybe I spoke too early," said Riddle in a worried tone. "You are better, aren't you?" 

Harry gulped. If the other children hadn't warned him, if this… flash… hadn't just assaulted him, he would have been fooled by Riddle's nice exterior. Now, though, all the hairs were standing on the back of his neck and he just wanted to get away from that gaze. 

He forced himself to smile and stand up, finally taking Riddle's hand and shaking it briefly. "Hum… yeah. I'm still a little out of it, sorry." 

He tried to take back his hand, but Riddle hung on to it. "That's understandable," said the other boy, staring at Harry intensely and not seeming to notice his efforts to free himself . "When I found you, you were a few minutes away from dying of hypothermia. It can't be brushed off that easily." 

"Yeah…" said Harry slowly. "Hum… thank you about that, by the way. For saving me? I'm… grateful, really." 

A gentle smile quirked Riddle's lips, though the relentless stare made it a little unnerving. "You are lucky that my window looks directly on the street, or I wouldn't have noticed your arrival. Strange, the way you showed up, isn't it?" 

Harry felt his heart spike, forgetting his trapped hand for a moment. "You saw me arrive?" he asked avidly. "Did you see who brought me here?" 

Riddle didn't respond right away, continuing to stare at Harry with that unflinching gaze. 

"You don't know?" he finally asked in a deceptively mild tone. 

"I don't remember anything," confessed Harry for the umpteenth time. 

"I heard," said Riddle. 

Harry frowned. "Then why do you ask?" 

Riddle's smile didn't seem so gentle anymore. "Strange, isn't it?" he repeated. "To leave a child lying in the snow like that." 

Harry hadn't let himself think about it. The fact that the people who had brought him here cared so little about him that they hadn't even bothered to ring the bell to put him inside was making his throat constrict and a hollow feeling open inside his stomach. And why had he been unconscious to begin with? Had they hurt him? 

Somehow, Harry really hoped he had been kidnapped and dumped here afterwards. Because if his own parents had done that… 

"And the way you arrived…" continued Riddle in a leading, almost taunting voice. 

Harry gave a particularly sharp tug and finally slipped his hand from Riddle's grasp. He took a step back. 

"If you have something to say, say it." 

Riddle's face didn't seem to really change, and yet it hardened undeniably. "Don't play dumb to me. How did you do it?" 

Gone was the nice facade. Harry preferred it that way. 

"How did I do what?" he asked with irritation. 

Riddle's eyes glinted dangerously. "The green light. The zapping sound. The way you just appeared out of nowhere. I saw it all, so don't lie." 

What the hell was he talking about? For a second, the image of the green light that had woken him up from his dream shot before Harry's eyes. 

"I did… what?" asked Harry. "So you didn't see who brought me here?" 

Harry suddenly felt cold and oppressed, like an invisible force was pressing down on him from all sides. Riddle took the step that was separating them and, to his horror, Harry found out that he couldn't move. Literally. His muscles worked alright, but they were restrained. 

"You want me to believe that you forgot how you came here?" sneered Riddle. He was only a little taller than Harry, but right now, glaring down at him, it seemed a lot more. "How convenient. How quaint." 

Genuine fear was now coursing through Harry's veins. What was happening? What was this invisible thing trapping him? And why couldn't somebody come into the room right now? 

"That's not convenient for me, if you must know," Harry gritted out, pushing against the invisible mold. He was relieved to hear that his voice sounded angry rather than scared. 

Riddle put a cold hand around Harry's throat. He didn't squeeze, didn't do anything more, but its mere presence was an unspoken threat. "But it is, if you want to avoid questions," he said in a low tone. "Except that you won't be avoiding them from me ." 

It was too much. Who did this guy think he was? Harry's outrage flowed over his fear, and some strange force soared within him to match Riddle's own. He pushed, and the cold cocoon restraining him stretched and cracked . Harry, now free, raised his arm and slapped Riddle's hand away from his throat. 

"I'm the one with the questions, not the one who avoids them, you prick!" He looked up toward the clock on the wall and saw that it was already five to seven. "Now, I have better company to seek, so bye. Don't talk to me again." 

He walked away, leaving behind a Tom Riddle who seemed shell-shocked. He had been since Harry had slapped his hand away. But he seemed to come back to himself as Harry was reaching the door, because the latter heard behind him: 

"This is not over." 

Harry threw a look over his shoulder, toward Riddle who was still standing by the bed, eyes resentful but weirdly gleaming on his pale face. 

"Sorry to break it to you, but it really is," said Harry in a definitive tone. 

And on these parting words, he left toward the dining hall. Despite himself, he looked behind him several times to make sure that Riddle wasn't following him. The other children hadn't been lying about this guy. 

And this cold force… What the hell? 

Harry had to have imagined it, right? It must be a side effect of his coma, like the memory loss. Riddle had seemed shocked when Harry had broken out of it, but that was maybe just because nobody had stood up to him before. No way he had been the one to create it. That would be, like… supernatural, or something. Nonsense. 

In the dining hall, he took a tray and went to get food from the serving lady before sitting next to Amy and some of her girlfriends. The other boys were at an already full table, but Dennis waved at him from afar. Amy introduced him cheerfully while he cut through his washed out cauliflower and a slice of pork as thin as a paper sheet.

Tom Riddle came in five minutes later, and Harry pointedly did not look when he sat at a small empty table in a corner of the room. He felt his dark eyes boring through his forehead as he ate, though. 

"Tom Riddle," he said. 

The girls' conversation was interrupted immediately, almost shockingly. Amy and the others were looking at him with wide eyes. Glad to have gotten their attention so easily, Harry continued: 

"Is he, like… sane?" 

Amy chanced a look toward Riddle, and averted her eyes straight away as if burned. "Harry," she hissed, "why is he looking at you like that?" 

Predictably, all the other girls followed her example and looked. Despite himself, Harry found himself exchanging a glance with Riddle, who had now narrowed his eyes. 

"He cornered me in the dormitory, saying some crazy things." 

"What crazy things?" asked Amy. 

Harry had no reason to hide it from them… and yet he found himself reluctant to share Riddle's claims. The green light of his dream was still frightening him. 

"It doesn't matter," he said. "Just… Is he known to be troubled, or…?" 

Hailey, one of the girls, snorted before stopping herself and throwing a worried glance toward Riddle. "Troubled?" she mocked in a low voice. "Yeah, he's troubled alright." 

"So he's crazy," checked Harry, already feeling relieved. If he was, then what he had said about appearing out of nowhere in a green light could be dismissed. This would just be a coincidence. 

"He's not crazy," said Amy in a wary voice. "He's… weird."

"Weird how ?" 

She was looking down at her plate, not meeting his eyes. The other girls didn't appear very eager to enlighten him either. In the end, Amy said, "Do you remember what Billy said earlier? That he could do things?" 

"What, like magic?" half-joked Harry. 

The other girls laughed nervously. Amy didn't, and Harry's smile slowly slid from his face. 

"You're not serious," he said. 

"I don't know what it is, alright," said Amy, a bit miffed. "Maybe he's just really good. But… some things happen to you when he's mad at you. Some things that can't be explained." 

She was talking from experience, Harry realised. The way she kept her eyes down, the way she gripped her fork tightly to stop her hand from trembling… She was scared of Tom Riddle. Genuinely scared. 

"Some things like… a force that stops you from moving?" he asked in a low voice, sensing his anxiety rising. The other girls were now very silent. 

Amy looked up at him sharply. "He did it? He did it to you?" 

Harry threw an hesitant look at the girls, but none seemed ready to mock him. They were waiting for his response as avidly as Amy. "He… yeah," admitted Harry. 

"You must stay away from him, Harry," said Amy with urgency. "He's dangerous. Don't get on his bad side." 

The dark eyes of Tom Riddle were still piercing holes on the side of his face. Harry wondered if it wasn't already too late.

 

Chapter 2: The snake and the lion

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

The morning after Harry's arrival, Riddle came to sit next to him in the dining hall, to the horrified looks of Dennis, Billy, and a round-faced boy named Jack. 

"Leave," Riddle simply said to them. 

Billy and Jack bolted while Dennis hesitated a few moments. In the end, though, he withered under Riddle's glare, and left with an apologetic wince toward Harry. 

"Who do you think you are, talking to them like that?" snapped Harry. 

Riddle shrugged, starting to peel his boiled egg without even looking at it, too fixated on staring once more at Harry. "If they didn't want to leave, they could have said so. They obeyed of their own free will." 

Harry was ready for a furious retort, but Riddle kept going. 

"So, did you change your mind about telling me how you came here?" he asked pleasantly. 

Harry put his face in his hand. "Oh my god, not this again. You…"

"If you're about to tell me that you don't remember, don't bother." He kept his polite face on, but it seemed to take some effort. "I was here, remember? I saw the light, I heard the sound."

"Lucky you. Did you happen to notice that I was unconscious at the time, smartass?" 

Riddle blinked, like it was taking time for Harry's insult to register. Harry saw when it did, because Riddle clenched his teeth, paled considerably, and made his egg explode. 

Some bits of egg went flying all across his tray and up to Harry and Riddle's shirts. They both looked down in dismay. 

If he had just crushed it in his fist, it wouldn't have blown up everywhere. This is weird , commented Harry's brain helpfully. 

Harry himself had had enough. "Well," he said, getting up with his tray, "on this note, goodbye." 

He turned to rejoin the boys, when his shoe caught on what he would have sworn was a perfectly level floor just a second ago. He went down hard on the tiles, spilling the contents of his tray everywhere. 

There was silence in the dining hall for an instant, before people began to laugh. Harry clenched his teeth against the pain in his knees and felt humiliation burn on his cheeks. By reflex, he turned and glowered at Riddle. The boy was looking down at him with a slight smile. Despite this, he offered Harry his hand. 

"Here, let me help you." 

He would have needed to do serious gymnastics to trip Harry from where he was sitting, but Harry knew it was him. After all, he had seen just yesterday that he didn't need to touch people to affect them. 

He got up without accepting Riddle's hand, picking up his yoghurt in the same movement. 

And then, knowing he was doing something he might regret but too angry to care, he smashed the pot against Riddle's face. 

It cracked and the yoghurt inside spilled all over Riddle's nose and chin. The laughs around them died as abruptly as if someone had turned off a radio. 

Riddle was still as a statue, yoghurt dripping off his face. Then he started to rise, probably to do something regrettable too, when an indignant voice bellowed: 

"HEY! What's this?"  

Percy appeared and landed an enormous hand on each boy's shoulder. He looked down at Harry with a look akin to disappointment. "Already creating trouble, newbie? You haven't been here for 24 hours!" 

"He…!" started Harry, pointing at Riddle. 

"I don't want to know," interrupted Percy in a stern voice. 

"He…!" started Riddle in turn, wiping off his face with paper napkins. 

"Yeah, I saw, kid. And I said I didn't want to know. You'll be getting this sorted with Mrs Cole." 

That's how they ended up in Mrs Cole's office. If she had seemed severe to Harry the previous day, now she looked downright draconian. She listened quietly to Percy's recollection of events — a simple listing of facts without attributing blame — and then dismissed him. 

When the door closed, she threw the two boys a long, long look. If it was supposed to make them squirm, Harry could admit that it was working on him. Not so much on Riddle, who seemed disdainful and sure of his ground, the bastard. 

Finally, Mrs Cole talked. "Do either of you have anything to say for yourself?" 

"He tripped me!" exclaimed Harry before Riddle could get a word in. 

"I did no such thing," retorted Riddle haughtily. "Do you have any witnesses?" 

Mrs Cole sent Riddle a tired look, and then turned toward Harry with a much more harsh one. "Even if he did, Harry, you should have gone to a supervisor, not… dumped your yoghurt on Tom's face." 

"He punched me with it! Look, he hurt me!" insisted Riddle, pointing to the red mark on his nose, visible now that he had wiped the yoghurt. (Or so he thought, noticed Harry deviously. He still had some white bits in his hair.)  

"He hurt me first!" countered Harry. "And he attacked me yesterday in the dormitory!" 

"Lies! He lies!" 

"You're the liar, you…!"

"ENOUGH!" thundered Mrs Cole. "No fight will ever be tolerated in this establishment! You will both be punished."

Riddle looked like he had received another yoghurt in the face. "Me too?" he asked. 

"Yes, Tom, you too. I will give Harry the benefit of the doubt this once," she looked at Harry before adding fiercely, "and only this once. You will shake hands, say sorry to each other, and to teach you to behave yourself in each other's presence, you will share laundry duty every day until the end of the week."

Harry threw a murderous look at Riddle, who was pinching his lips so hard that they were white. But then, the other boy suddenly relaxed. 

"Yes, Mrs Cole," he said politely. "I'm sorry for my behavior." He turned toward Harry and offered him his hand to shake. "I'm sorry, Harry. Please forgive me." 

Harry was flabbergasted for a second, and then he saw a superior glint in Riddle's eyes. Harry clenched his jaw, and then imitated his counterpart with the most saccharine and regretful smile he could muster. 

"Oh no, Tom, it's my fault," he said while shaking Riddle's cold hand. (Did he dip them in ice water each morning or what?) " I apologize." 

Riddle scrutinized him above his smile. "You're too kind. I accept your apology, but I must insist. I shouldn't have started this." 

They were crushing each other's hands so hard that Harry wasn't sure that they wouldn't end up one-handed at the end of this handshake. "I also accept your apology," he said, sweet through the pain, "but I shouldn't have reacted this way. This is entirely on me." 

"Oh no, it was entirely my…"

"I'm too old for this," sighed Mrs Cole. "Get out, each of you. You'll do your punishment tonight after Tom comes back from school." 

They exited the office, hands red and smiles plastered to their faces. As soon as the door closed behind them, Tom turned toward Harry, hatred gleaming from every pore. Harry had expected it and he was still taken aback by the force of the about-face. 

"You are dead," enunciated the boy with an impressive amount of coldness. 

Harry felt a shiver run up his spine, because it didn't sound like a manner of speaking. But… it must be. No one was this psycho. 

Anyway, he jutted out his chin and smiled cockily, not about to show weakness. "You saved my life just yesterday, Riddle. You should make up your mind." 

"I made it," gritted out Riddle. 

"Sure you did. But think about it, Tom. If you killed me, how would you find out what the green light was?" he said, waving his fingers mockingly. 

Riddle's eyes widened, and then narrowed dangerously. He took a step forward, hands twitching, before stopping himself abruptly. "I won't get another punishment because of you, you worthless, pathetic…," his lips moved, but he was apparently out of insults. He turned sharply and started walking away. 

"You better watch out, Harry ," he said before disappearing in the hallway. 

"Oh, I know…," whispered Harry for himself. Just like me, to make a mortal enemy my very first day in a new place. 

The thought had come to him unbidden, but he welcomed it. It at least gave him some insight into who he was. He guessed Eric had been right: he wasn't a pushover. 

 

 

֍֍֍

 

 

The following month, Harry would learn many more things. 

One, his mind was well and truly messing with him. 

He still couldn't remember anything useful but every so often he had some weird, out-of-context flash. When he was feeding the pigeons in the yard (it was forbidden, but whatever , like Dennis said) he had visions of a white bird that looked like an owl and elicited feelings of warmth and companionship inside him. But could it really be a memory? Who the hell owned a pet owl ? Once, a book had fallen from his hands and for a second, he had seen a monstrous book with legs and teeth in its place. And when he swept the floors, he had the stupid urge to mount on the broom and fly away. 

Two, he was now very good at sweeping floors. 

He had been stuck every day at Wool's for three weeks while the others were gone, because to enlist in school, you needed papers. And to have papers, you needed a name. And to have a name, you needed a birth certificate. None of which Harry had. So, because Mrs Cole had been afraid that he would spend hours watching the telly if he wasn't supervised, she had spent these three weeks assigning every chore imaginable to him. His flashes had taken to showing him a horse-faced woman whenever she was around, and he felt like the connexion wasn't very kind to the Director. 

Three, administration was a nightmare. 

Harry knew, because he had found himself spending several days with Martha in this office or that government agency, trying to explain the situation to confused and suspicious public servants. One day, Mrs Cole even had to accompany him herself because, according to Martha, she was better at "kicking out a storm."  Things had indeed moved at a smoother pace after that, even if the officials kept calling their manager every five minutes and muttering that it was highly irregular . But in the end, it was deemed that Harry wasn't trying to get a second identity for nefarious purposes, but just because he had forgotten the first and he wanted to go to school. 

For three weeks, Harry had tried to remember his real name with all his might. Dennis had even given him his internet credit so Harry could look up lists of English surnames on Wool's computer and see if any felt familiar. He had stared particularly hard at Creevey, Bones and Parkinson, but most didn't ring a bell, and even those three didn't feel right. 

For that reason, when Harry ended up in the last administration office being asked what he wanted to call himself, he drew a blank. 

"Do I have to have a family name?" he asked plaintively. 

"Yes, you have to," had replied Mrs Cole before even the public official could respond. "Do you know how many Harrys there are in the world?" 

"No…?" 

"A lot. That's why you need a family name." 

But I don't have a family , he thought sullenly. 

When he stayed silent, Mrs Cole sighed. "I have told you to think on it and decide on a name weeks ago." 

"I know, but…" 

"But you didn't, as I knew you wouldn't. I can spot a procrastinator from miles away." She turned toward the public official, a balding man who was looking at the scene awkwardly. "His name will be Childress. Harry Childress." 

"What?" screeched Harry. "Why?" 

Mrs Cole pierced him with a fierce look. "Because it is a suitable name."

"I don't like it," he said stubbornly. 

"Do you have better to propose?" said Mrs Cole, raising an eyebrow. 

Harry hesitated, unwilling to answer. "…No…" 

"Then it's decided. It's a proper and beautiful name."

"But it's not my name!" he shouted, standing up. The balding man startled, but Mrs Cole didn't even flinch. 

"You will get your name back when we find it. You know that." She looked back at the public official. "You got everything you need?" 

The man's eyes wavered between Harry and Mrs Cole. "Any middle name, or do I leave it blank?" 

Mrs Cole turned to Harry with magnanimity. He glowered at her, before turning his face away and sitting back down. 

"Dennis," he muttered at last. 

The bald man smiled, relieved that this step went easier. "Dennis it is!" 

Harry Dennis Childress. 

A name that wasn't his. A name that his previous loved ones would never recognize if they heard it. A name that was like closing a door on his old life, forsaking the hope of ever returning to it, and embracing his new one. Harry wasn't ready for it. But then, he doubted he would have ever been ready. 

At least, it allowed Harry Childress to attend middle school with the others, to the joy of his friends. 

"Now, you're gonna suffer like us!" had rejoiced Eric with a grin. 

At this stage, Harry had already been suffering, but that was a story for the fourth thing he had learnt in the month. 

"It's gonna be fine," whispered Dennis to Harry. "I'll help you if you have trouble catching up because of your amnesia." 

His bed-neighbor had quickly become Harry's favorite out of his new little group, and since he had confessed to taking his name on his ID, Dennis had been even more considerate. 

But it turned out that Harry didn't need Dennis's help in that regard. He may not have known his name anymore, or where he used to live, or the face of his parents, but he remembered perfectly well how to conjugate verbs or do a division. Thank God for his brain's choice of priorities, right? 

So he was doing pretty well in class — but not as much as Tom Riddle, of course. 

If Harry was being perfectly fair and honest, Tom Riddle was probably a genius. 

A genius who may have superpowers. If you were inclined to believe in this sort of thing, which Harry was surprised to discover that he was. And he wasn't the only one. From quiet conversations with others, he had gathered that the least closely guarded secret at Wool's was that Tom Riddle could do things no one should be able to do. It was whispered here and there, clear in the wary looks darted toward the boy and the wide berth he was afforded, but no one really dared to voice it aloud. What supervisor would believe them? After all, what kind of fools believed in magic? 

Fools like Harry, that was who. He had felt it after all, or whatever it had been that first evening. And something was prickling at Harry's memories whenever he looked at Riddle, like he was forgetting something gigantic about the boy. This prickling sensation came often, because since what Dennis had dubbed "the yoghurt incident," Riddle took great care to always put himself on Harry's path. 

Fourth thing he had learnt this month: Tom Riddle was an evil genius with superpowers who hated Harry's guts. 

Not that it had been a problem at first. Harry had actually expected immediate retaliation and had been a little confused when all Riddle did for weeks was lurk around Harry, occasionally making sly remarks but rarely doing more than watching quietly. It had been unnerving, but that was pretty much Riddle's trademark, wasn't it? Being unnerving. It had honestly put Harry less on edge than his friends, especially Billy, who threatened to keel over anytime Riddle slightly looked his way. 

Looking back, Harry should have known that Riddle was only covering his own butt. He would have been the immediate suspect in Mrs Cole's eyes if unfortunate things had started happening to Harry right after their very public fight. And as Harry was lulled into a false sense of security, Riddle was simply biding his time. 

It started small, so small Harry just thought he was unlucky rather than targeted, at first. A week before he started school, messes started appearing everywhere in Wool's. Mud tracks on the floor just after he had finished cleaning it, truly staggering amounts of laundry, the mop being dirty even though he was certain he had rinsed it the day before, and once, even the broom snapping in two as he was handling it. 

Accidents were now happening to him with an alarming frequency. His yellow sweatshirt came out ripped from the washing machine. He burnt his tongue more than once because his food was inexplicably hot. One evening, he was bending to pick up a ball while playing babyfoot with the boys and his trousers split on the butt, giving everyone in the crowded playroom a lovely view of his underpants. 

Billy was insisting that it was Tom Riddle, but the accidents were so petty that Harry didn't really believe it. Besides, for Billy, everything was Tom Riddle's fault, even the weather and bad dreams. Only when Harry found shoe prints on his pillow did he start to consider this theory. 

Things escalated, becoming more difficult to blame on simple bad luck. Doors slammed in his face without any wind. He tripped on invisible things so much that his knees were now constantly bruised. When he started school, his assignments kept disappearing when he had to turn them in, even though he was sure he had taken them with him in the morning. Things broke around him when he was alone and wasn't even touching them — windows, bowls, mirrors. He could swear all he wanted to Mrs Cole that it wasn't him, but incidents piled up too much for it to be believable and he was always getting punished for his "carelessness" and "lies." Worse, he even found dead pigeons in the yard when he went to feed them in the morning after cooking duty: one at first, then two, then three.

After the fourth bird's body, mauled and its wings broken, Harry tracked Riddle down in his single room and banged the door open without warning. Riddle looked up in surprise, interrupted in the making of his bed. Harry slammed him against the wall. 

"Knock it off, you psycho!" he growled. 

Infuriatingly, Riddle recovered fast, a taunting smile gracing his lips. "Whatever do you mean?" 

"The pigeons! Maybe you hate me, but they didn't do anything to you!" 

Riddle raised his eyebrows. "You do care about them, don't you? My, that's so sweet. You know they're pests, right?" 

"You're deranged! You should be locked up in a mental hospital!" 

Riddle's face darkened abruptly, drawing into a scowl. "Be careful what you say, Childress." 

Harry twisted a smile. "Oh, I hit a nerve, did I? I know they sent you to the psychologist. Did he agree with me? I bet he did. No need to have a degree to see that you're a freak." 

Harry was propelled backwards by the same cold, invisible force as the first day. His knees hit the bed and he fell with enough strength to hit the wall behind. "Ow!" 

Riddle advanced, towering above him. The air was so saturated with dark energy that Harry had trouble breathing, and primal fear was vibrating inside him. Riddle's eyes were two black pits of malevolence. 

"Don't you know you shouldn't attack people stronger than you, Childress?" he asked in a threatening purr. 

Despite his fear, Harry straightened and glared. "That's the opposite, you stupid prick! Don't you feel pathetic, attacking tiny birds that can't defend themselves? Why don't you pick on someone your size?" 

Riddle smiled, an evil, ugly thing. "And that would be you, is that it?" He laughed breathlessly, bending toward Harry. "Oh, Childress. But you're just as weak as these birds. I'll make you understand that." 

Harry got to his feet, shoving Riddle away. "Do your worst," he sneered, getting to the door. If he stayed, he would attack Riddle with actual fists. 

"I intend to," said Riddle. "I'll discover what you're hiding, and then you'll be discarded." 

This guy was talking like a supervillain. It would have been ridiculous if Harry hadn't suspected him to be able to back it up. Nonetheless, Harry would never bow meekly. 

"I don't hide anything, you wacko. But believe what you want, as long as it torments you." 

He slammed the door behind him, glad to have had the last word, even though he suspected it would not last long.  Children in the hallways stared at him with wide eyes . Nobody got into Riddle's room, and certainly not to go out like that after a screaming match. 

In the evening, while they were lounging on Dennis's bed playing cards with Billy, Eric, Jack, Hailey, and Amy, the blond girl took him aside discreetly. 

"You have to stop what you're doing with Riddle, Harry," she said anxiously. "Something bad is gonna happen, I feel it." 

"I'm not doing anything," he replied, annoyed that Amy implied it was his fault. "He's the one targeting me." 

She was wringing her hands. "Can't you… I don't know, apologize?"

Harry's eyes bulged out so much they could have popped out. " Apologize ? He's the one in the wrong! He's killing animals, Amy!"  

"And what if it doesn't stay only animals?" she whispered with fright. 

There were tears in her eyes, and Harry suddenly felt bad. He put a hand on her shoulder. "Don't worry, Amy. I'm not gonna be murdered . We're not in a movie." 

" He belongs in a movie." 

"On that, I think you're right." 

 

֍֍֍

 

When Harry woke up the next morning, he was alone in the dorm. He didn't think anything of it — it wasn't an uncommon occurrence. He was still often waking up at night because of weird dreams of green light, red eyes and terrible pain in his forehead.  As such, he was catching up on sleep in the early hours of the morning and was frequently the last to arrive at breakfast, getting up only ten to fifteen minutes before going to school. 

But when he arrived in the dining hall, eyes still blurry and hair damp from his quick shower, he saw that his friends hadn't kept him a seat. Their usual table was completely full. He shrugged and dragged an extra chair to the table, smiling. "Hey." 

The others exchanged embarrassed looks. No one responded, until Dennis let out a quiet, almost whispering, "Hi." 

Harry frowned. "Everything alright?" 

The awkwardness was almost a living entity, choking the table's occupants. Eric had his jaw clenched like he was angry, glaring at his cereal bowl. The others were likewise looking down into their food to avoid Harry's eyes. Amy was tearing up again, and Dennis was very pale. 

Harry leaned toward Dennis. "What's going on?" he whispered. 

Dennis tensed, not looking at him at first and then darting a quick glance to another part of the dining hall. Harry followed his gaze and found himself looking into Riddle's satisfied eyes. The boy was sitting at a table alone, as usual, and was watching Harry's group unashamedly. A very bad feeling swelled in Harry's chest. 

"Guys?" 

A bit of silence, and then Dennis broke. 

"I'm so sorry, Harry," he whispered in a rush, looking like he was trying not to move his lips. "It's Riddle. He forbade us to talk to you anymore." 

Harry sat back, stunned. After a second, he said in disbelief: "And you're gonna do it?" 

The awkward silence that followed his question told him all he had to know. 

"Wow." 

Dennis shot him an anguished look. "Harry, I'm so sorry, I swear. But last time I displeased him he burned the last memory I had of my father, and…" He stopped, and lowered his face pitifully. "I'm sorry," he repeated in a defeated tone. 

This was a whole new kind of hurt Harry was experiencing. Betrayal was making his eyes sting and his throat close up. "Eric?" he said. 

The boy's shoulders were tense and he was gripping his fork like he wanted to reduce it to dust. He didn't look up. 

Guess you were the pushover in the end , thought Harry. He was a breath away from actually saying it, but couldn't for some reason. He wouldn't be petty like Riddle. 

He took pity in Amy, Billy and Jack who were clearly close to tears and didn't call on them. Instead, he looked at his food, feeling like he might throw up even if he hadn't eaten anything. 

"Okay," he heard himself say in the end, voice far away. "Can I at least stay until the end of breakfast? I don't want to give him the satisfaction of seeing me being cast out." 

Dennis flinched like he had slapped him. "You can stay," he hurried to answer. His voice was raw.  

"Yeah," croaked Eric quietly. He sounded meeker than Harry had ever heard him. 

The five more minutes of breakfast were a tense, sad affair. Harry forced himself to swallow some bread for appearances' sake, even though it tasted like ash in his mouth. He didn't look at Riddle, but he could feel his smugness from across the room. As soon as Eric got up to put away his tray, Harry imitated him and rushed out of the dining hall. 

He locked himself in a remote toilet stall and finally let himself cry. Feelings too strong to belong only to Harry Childress were engulfing him. It was the reopening of an old wound, inflicted after years of being rejected, friendless and unloved. From his dreams, he had always had the impression that his previous life had been challenging, but now he had the confirmation. 

Well, damn them and damn him , he thought after his crying fit, wiping his eyes furiously. If he wants to see me crumble, he'll be waiting a long time. I don't need anyone. 

He got out of the stall with his head held high. 

He had halfway thought that he would hang out with the children that didn't come from Wool's in school, but Riddle's reach apparently extended past the Children's Home. There had always been some kind of separation between the two groups of children — those with families and those without. It wasn't outright animosity, but everyone just hung out in their own circle, rarely mixing. The other students treated them with wariness and distance, like they were wild animals, and those from Wool's treated them with a kind of hurt disdain in turn, often privately mocking these innocent, pampered children. Nonetheless, Harry had a cordial relationship with a few of them and he approached them in class. 

They initially welcomed him openly enough, but by the time lunch came rolling in, word must have spread of Harry's new pariah status, because they suddenly wouldn't have anything to do with him. Harry sat alone at the end of a table, studiously ignoring his former friends, and he sat alone at class, concentrating on his studies with all his might. Now that he couldn't secretly chat with Dennis, he had never been more attentive and studious. He took great care to answer several of the teacher's questions to show Riddle that he wasn't beaten down. 

Another humiliating moment was the picking of the teams for handball practice. Harry was generally picked amongst the firsts, because he was pretty good at sports — one of the only areas where he surpassed Riddle in school. But today, even Gloria — an overweight, lazy girl who wouldn't run even if her life depended on it — was picked before him. As Eric was one of the team's captains, in the end Harry was chosen by Karl, one of the family children. 

He played with fervor and made his new team win by a wide margin. He even managed to throw the ball at Riddle's face at some point, apologizing curtly before the eyes of the P.E. teacher. He didn't break the boy's perfect nose, but what was the saying? If at first you don't succeed, try and try again. 

The worst moment of the day, though, was the free time after dinner, when everyone hung out. His former friends did seem more subdued than usual, but they were still together in the playroom. Harry stayed in the study room until curfew, doing a week of homework in advance. 

Of course, since Riddle was a bloody nerd, Harry should have predicted that he would come to the same place at some point. 

The boy entered with books under the arm and stopped when he saw Harry. Then, he closed the door behind them and went to sit at the same table with a smug smile. It was only made slightly less infuriating by the red mark on his nose. 

"Life is not too difficult, Childress?" he asked lightly. 

"I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about," said Harry. "How is the nose?" 

Riddle narrowed his eyes. "I knew you did it on purpose." 

Harry smirked. "If you were doubting it for even a second, then you're even more stupid than I thought." He leaned forward and added: " I don't miss ." 

"Neither do I," replied Riddle. 

Harry snorted. "I know you're trying for some threatening supervillain bullshit, but you literally missed two passes in P.E. this afternoon." 

The rest of Riddle's face was starting to become as red as his nose. "You just don't know where to stop, do you?" 

" Neither do you ," parroted Harry. 

"You shouldn't be called Childress, but Child ish ."

"Ow, I'm hurt," mocked Harry while placing his hand on his heart. "Be more gentle with me." 

Riddle smirked. "That's not gonna happen. Not unless you give me what I want." 

Like a dog with a bone. "As shocking as you might find this, Riddle, I'm not the one who lives to piss the other off. If I knew what this freaking green light you keep talking about was, I would have told you a long time ago." He shrugged and went back to his homework. "But whatever, keep doing your thing. I survived far worse than you before." 

In the periphery of his vision, he noticed a flicker of doubt pass on Riddle's features. It was gone quickly. 

" I don't believe you . And I thought you didn't remember anything from your previous life? If that's true, then how would you know what you survived or not?" 

Harry paused. This was one of these intimate convictions he had about himself without any proof whatsoever. In the end, he shrugged again, awkwardly. "I just know. I don't remember, but I feel things about myself and my past, sometimes." 

"If you expect me to believe that…"

"I can't stress that enough, Riddle, but I literally don't care what you believe or not. If you weren't obsessed with me, I wouldn't even know you exist. Now, let me work, would you?" 

Some strange emotion rippled through Riddle's face before Harry looked away. It almost looked like hurt, but it was laughable. The guy was 100% pure psychopath. Maybe he had messed up his sneer. 

The following days, Harry fell into a dreary routine. He woke up alone, ate alone, went to school alone and spent his evenings alone. Martha was concerned, and Dennis was throwing him agonised looks when Riddle wasn't looking, but Harry ignored him. He couldn't help but feel resentful, because he knew that if their positions had been reversed, he would have never caved to Riddle. True friends fought for each other. 

Things got worse when Jerry's crew, a bunch of thirteen year-old brutes of Wool's, realised that if Harry was alone, he was easy pickings. To the delight of Riddle, they started knocking him down in hallways, throwing greasy candy wrappers at him and calling him belittling names. Harry was standing up to them as best as he could, but to his despair, he was smaller and alone. When no supervisor was around, they often ganged up on him while the other children looked the other way. 

More and more frequently, he found himself lying at night, listening to Dennis snore beside him with his ribs hurting and an empty stomach because the crew had stolen his food. At these times, and only at these times, he allowed himself to cry and entertain the possibility of giving up. I could ask Mrs Cole to transfer me , he thought, again and again. It happens. I could start fresh somewhere else. 

But in the clear light of the morning, when he approached Mrs Cole's office, he couldn't make himself knock. Giving up to Riddle was out of the question. 

If my parents came for me, I could leave without losing face , he often thought. And what a masochistic thought that was, because as Jerry loved to remind him, his parents had probably left him in the snow to die. 

It went on for two weeks when, one February Saturday, the situation reached a boiling point. 

 

 

֍֍֍

 

"You're a little shit!" growled Jerry, literally kicking Harry while he was down and eliciting a grunt of pain. "And where do little shits belong?"

"In the toilet!" sang Jerry's brutish friends. 

The weekend had begun like many others: Harry doing his own thing away from people, waiting eagerly for the outing planned in the afternoon. In Wool's, he had taken to staying close to Martha, Percy, or any other supervisor if he could help it. He worried that it made him a coward, but it certainly made his life simpler. The Children's Home was chronically understaffed, though, and there wasn't always an adult around. 

Around eleven, he had left the study room, making a bee-line to his dormitory, but his notorious luck had made him bump into Jerry in the second floor hallway. Insults had led to blows, and Harry had lost it. In the crowded hallway, with half the floor watching, he had thrown himself at Jerry and punched him in the face. 

Now bleeding on the floor under the thorough wrath of Jerry's crew, he kinda regretted his actions. 

"Come on, boys, let's flush this turd!" 

Jerrys' friends grabbed Harry and dragged him toward the end of the hallway, where the bathroom was. Horrified by this new low, Harry fought and fought, but couldn't escape their grasp and was hauled inexorably forward. And of course, the situation was made fully perfect by the fact that they passed Riddle standing in his doorway, watching it all. Though even he seemed vaguely nonplussed by this turn of events.  

They entered the bathroom, and Jerry opened one of the stalls. Harry was bracing himself for a future where he would have his face shoved in a toilet, when a trembling voice suddenly echoed around the room. 

"Leave him alone!" 

Harry was probably more shocked than Jerry's goons when he recognized the voice. The guys turned, just enough that Harry was able to see Dennis standing there, looking terrified and determined at the same time. There were several other people watching from the door, including Riddle. 

"Oh, look, the turd's got a boyfriend!" mocked Jerry. 

His friends laughed, and Jerry said in a threatening tone: "Run along, kid, or we'll flush you too." He turned toward the guys restraining Harry, totally unconcerned by Dennis. "Go on, guys." 

Harry was dragged toward the toilet once more, flailing and kicking. His face was about to be shoved down into the bowl, when the guys holding him jolted and let him go. Harry turned around to the sound of a scuffle and saw with amazement that Dennis had jumped on the back of one of the bullies. 

"Run, Harry!" he screamed, getting caught by Jerry himself. 

But even if Harry had wanted to, the way was blocked by all the onlookers. He was caught back despite his best efforts, and Jerry grabbed Dennis' hair roughly, making the boy cry out in pain. 

"Right," growled Jerry. "Let's flush this one first, if he insists." 

He dragged Dennis by his hair toward the toilet, and Harry felt something snap inside him. Enduring this himself was one thing, but watching it happen to Dennis, who had been brave enough to help him, and in front of Riddle, even? It was unbearable. 

"NO!" he screamed at Jerry. "Let him go, LET HIM GO!" 

The pressure inside him cracked, just as a loud BOOM resounded in the bathroom. A second later, Jerry was propelled backwards by a spray of water right on the face. It was coming from one of the pipes and quickly started inundating the bathroom. 

"Shit, shit!" swore Jerry's goons. They scrambled to get out, unhindered by the onlookers who had gotten the cue to flee. Only Riddle was left, staring at Harry with wide eyes. 

Dennis grabbed Harry's arm roughly, jolting him. "Come on, let's go!" 

They ran out, bumping against Riddle on their way, and rushed to their dormitory. They slammed the door behind them and leaned against it, like it could keep out the wrath of Mrs Cole. 

"Quick, quick!" said Dennis. "We have to change!" 

They hopped out of their drenched clothes and put on new ones, shoving the soaked garments under their beds. Mrs Cole's furious voice could already be heard screaming down the hallway, with some other panicked voices. 

Dennis and Harry exchanged a look, and then collapsed from laughter on Harry's bed. 

"I can't believe it!" hiccuped Dennis. "It's like God helped us himself!" 

"It was glorious !" exclaimed Harry. 

"Oh my god, yeah!" 

It took quite some time to release all the laughter and adrenaline inside them. After a few minutes and a belly ache, they calmed down to a giggle or two from time to time. Lying on the bed next to Harry, Dennis turned his head toward him at last. His face was worried. 

"I'm so sorry, Harry," he said quietly. 

"For what?" boggled Harry. "You just saved me! Or, you tried to, at least." 

Dennis looked away. "I should have tried sooner. I swear, it was horrible to see you get treated like that, but I… I was too chicken to do anything. I was too afraid for me ." He looked back at Harry, his face determined. "But it won't happen again. I have your back, I promise." 

A warm, overwhelming feeling rose inside Harry, making it hard to breathe. He grabbed Dennis's hand roughly and squeezed it. 

"It's gonna be hell for you," he warned with worry.  

Dennis squeezed his hand back. "Then we'll be in hell together."

The smile they exchanged was brighter than the sun. 

 

 

֍֍֍

 

Tom was pacing restlessly in his room, pulled between amazement and worry.

There wasn't any possible doubt now. He had suspected for weeks — more than that, even: since that first day when Harry had broken the hold of his power — and now he had the confirmation. 

He wasn't the only one. 

Childress was magic too.

 

Notes:

Me: "Here, guys, have another moment together. Maybe you could sort out your differences and finally..."
Harry & Tom: *SHOUT AT EACH OTHER*
Me: "Okay, then... Tom, maybe you could calm down a little and..."
Tom: *LAUGH MANIACALLY, ADD ANOTHER SHIT TO THE SHITPILE*
Me: "This is out of my hands."

Chapter 3: For the design

Summary:

Warning to all passengers: we will be experiencing a patch of turbulence before things smooth over. Please fasten your seatbelts, brace yourselves, and remember that I love you.

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Harry Childress and Dennis Bishop were sitting together in the dining hall, laughing merrily like nothing was wrong in the world. 

Tom watched it all, barely touching his own breakfast, so concentrated he was on the two boys. Or rather, on one of them in particular. 

Even 48 hours ago, this show of insubordination from Bishop would have enraged him, but in the face of what he had witnessed Saturday, he only felt a distracted sort of annoyance. Of course, Bishop would get what was coming to him, and it would be striking and brutal — Tom couldn't let the rest of Wool's think that challenging him didn't have consequences. Right now, though, his mind was churning and he could barely spare a thought for punishment. 

Because, for maybe the first time in his life, he didn't know what to do. 

Harry Childress was hiding things. Important, mysterious things that were linked to Magic. The fact that he had powers like Tom made it all the more necessary to know what it was, and Tom yearned to approach him, to ask him if he could move things with his mind too, or talk to snakes, or influence people's minds. He was almost giddy over the thought of sharing this conversation. But one, Childress would never tell him, and two… 

The boy acted like he truly didn't know about his powers. Sure, he also faked memory loss and acted like he didn't know how he had showed up out of nowhere, so it could be another ploy. But…this time, and to his own dismay, Tom was almost tempted to believe him. After all, why would he let himself be bullied for so long when he could have used his advantage to defend himself? Was he so determined to fake being normal? And let’s imagine for one second that he was telling the truth. Then Tom confronting him about his powers would only tip him off, and Tom would lose his edge in their war. 

Should this war really continue, though? whispered a traitorous voice in his head. He is like you. You could do and learn so many great things together… 

Tom shut this thought down when he felt himself waver. The idea was filling a starved part of himself that honestly frightened him. He was doing perfectly fine on his own! And besides, Harry Childress was a rude, bullheaded, disrespectful liar . Tom shuddered when thinking back on the yoghurt that had been smashed on his face in front of all of Wool's. That, and… 

If you weren't obsessed with me, I wouldn't even know you exist. 

This dismissal made him angrier than all the rest combined, though in a weird, flustered kind of way. Well, you certainly know I exist now! Tom thought with savage vindictiveness. Stop the war? Ha! Not in a thousand years. Tom would destroy him, utterly and completely. Childress would become a pathetic, disgusting shell of a human being, a warning for everyone that laid eyes on him. He would be sorry . And when he would be so down that even the worms couldn't see him, then he would be forced to reveal all his secrets to Tom. After that, maybe Tom would take mercy on him and decide whether he was worth keeping around. 

From across the dining hall, Childress flickered a look toward Tom and their eyes met. The boy immediately sneered and looked away, whispering something to Bishop that made the other nod empathically. 

Tom smirked through his clenched teeth. Yes, he couldn't wait to get to their endgame. 

And it would all start with Dennis Bishop. 

 

 

֍֍֍

 

The exploding pipe incident was wrapped up with surprisingly little fanfare. No blame could be found, even though whispers had it that Harry and Jerry's gang were involved. Harry knew it had reached Mrs Cole's ears, because she had been throwing him suspicious glances all Sunday, and she had even taken him aside before dinner to tell him not to "get influenced by older kids" and that "violence isn't an appropriate response to feeling bad." 

"This is so lame," griped Dennis while they prepared for school on Monday morning. "It's obvious it couldn't have been you. What does she think? That you burst the pipe from the inside out with your bare hands?" 

Harry did feel annoyed about the unfairness, especially considering that he would probably suffer retaliation from Jerry's gang pretty soon (they were lucky that the boy was visiting his mother every Sunday and so hadn't been around yesterday). Honestly, though, Harry was  starting to get used to them. He was more concerned about the fact that Riddle was now staring at them non-stop with an evil smirk. He could feel the anvil about to fall on his and Dennis's heads and it made him fidgety. So much so that when Riddle came to walk beside them on the way to school, Dennis was the one to tell him to get lost. 

"Go away, Riddle," the blond said, jutting out his chin. "You're not scaring us." 

From how wide his eyes were, it clearly wasn't true, but Harry was still impressed. Dennis seemed to have meant his "go to hell together" comment and now fully embraced the Fuck-You-Riddle attitude. 

Riddle raised an eyebrow. "By walking next to you? I hope not." For once, he was looking fixedly at Dennis, which Harry didn't like at all. "I just wanted to check that you were alright, after what happened Saturday. Quite a dangerous situation you put yourself into." 

Dennis tensed. "If you're here to tell me to give up on Harry again, it won't work." 

Riddle exchanged a sly look with Harry before turning back to Dennis. "I never told you to give up on him. I just told you that I was concerned he would be a bad influence." 

Harry couldn't help but scoff. "Right." 

"I'm still worried, to be honest," said Riddle, ignoring Harry, "but I also think that it's too late. Whatever bad choices you made, sadly there’s no taking them back now." 

And on these parting words, he left them to rejoin the head of the line. Dennis watched him go with a pale face, and Harry suddenly felt terrible. How selfish did you have to be to expect your friends to suffer beside you rather than protect themselves?  It wasn't Dennis' fight and Harry was dragging him into it. 

"Look," he said quietly to the blond boy. "If you would rather go back to not being friends, I would understand. I wouldn't be mad, really…" 

"I think he just said that wasn't an option," answered Dennis, who seemed to be forcing himself to be cheerful. "And I wouldn't, anyway. Honestly, I felt way worse when I was letting you down than I do now." He winced. "Though, yeah, I preferred it when I wasn't on his radar. I don't know how you do it." 

"Stubbornness, I think." 

Dennis laughed, and Harry did too. God, it was so good to have a friend back. 

For the first time in a while, he actually enjoyed himself at school. He even kept catching longing glances sent their way by Amy and Billy, but now that he wasn't alone anymore, it was easier to forgive them for still not coming. He honestly wouldn't have wanted Riddle's wrath on them both. 

So he was surprised when he was approached in art class. He was rinsing paint brushes in the lavatory when somebody stopped in front of the sink next to him. Harry looked up, returned to his brushes, and then did a double-take when he realised it was Billy. 

"Hey," said the small ginger boy timidly. 

For a moment, Harry was too shocked to respond. "Hum… Hey." 

Billy was wringing his hands, looking toward the door nervously. "I… I heard what happened Saturday. I’ve been looking for a chance to talk to you since then, but…" He sighed, then threw an anguished look at Harry. "Do you hate me now?" 

"What?" said Harry, taken aback. 

Billy looked like he was trying to unscrew his fingers. "I wish I was as brave as you or Dennis!" he let out in a pained voice. "But I… I… This is really hard. I'm too afraid of him, Harry!" 

Harry hesitated. He didn't want to make Billy feel bad, truly. But in the end, he decided to say the truth. 

"That's what bravery is, though," he said, gentle but firm. "It's hard." 

Billy looked crestfallen. He didn't say anything more, and something tugged at Harry's heart. He put a hand on Billy's shoulder. 

"I don't hate you, Billy. I understand, don't worry." 

Harry had intended to comfort him, but it seemed to be the last blow for the ginger boy. He sobbed and whirled around, running out of the room. From the hallway, Harry heard a crying: "I'm sorry!" 

Feeling troubled, Harry finished cleaning the paint brushes and returned to art class. On his way to Dennis, he glowered particularly fiercely at Riddle and couldn't really focus on his painting of a "clear, relaxing landscape". 

Then, at lunch, Amy passed by their table without stopping, and in a move almost impossibly quick, she put two jelly bears on Harry's tray. By the time he and Dennis noticed, she was already far away and she didn't look back. 

Finally, during their last class of the day, a paper plane landed on their desk. Harry looked behind them, and saw Eric gesture frantically for him to turn back. Harry did so and glanced at Riddle, but the boy was always sitting in the front of the class and hadn't noticed anything. 

"It's Eric," whispered Harry. 

"What does he want?" asked Dennis. 

Harry unfolded the paper and revealed a message in Eric's messy handwriting. 

" Be careful this afternoon. I heard Jerry in the showers this morning, he was saying he would get you two on your way back from school, out of Wool's." 

Out of Wool's? The older boys wouldn't even have to hold back to not get noticed by a supervisor. "We're in deep shit," bemoaned Harry. 

Dennis, though, had a contemplative look on his face. "No… Now that we know, we just have to avoid them. Here, let me…"

 He took the paper and wrote quickly on it: "Sign our names in the attendance sheet when you get back" 

Then he balled up the paper and quickly threw it at Eric while the teacher's back was turned. Harry looked at him questioningly. 

"They never check who is really back at Wool's or not," said his friend. "As long as your name is written on the attendance sheet, they don't notice anything. We'll take another route to avoid Jerry's gang. I wanted to show you a place, anyway."

That's how, when the supervisor went to get them at the end of school and counted the children, Harry and Dennis followed the group for a few streets before quietly slipping away. Harry was glad it wasn't Martha today, as she was quite attentive and would have surely noticed they were gone. She would have thrown a fit. 

But maybe Harry and Dennis would have benefited from being as observant. As it was, they didn't notice at all the dark-haired figure splitting from the group to follow them. 

 

֍֍֍

 

"Hampstead Heath!" presented Dennis with a wide movement of the arm like it was his own private garden. 

The park was huge . Grassy hills spread as far as his nine years old eyes could see, adorned with little lakes and, behind them, a breathtaking view of the whole city. Harry felt almost dizzy at having so much open ground around him after being confined in buildings and the London streets for two months. 

"This is awesome!" 

Dennis sat on the ground toward the panorama, uncaring of the slightly wet grass. As Harry sat beside him, the blond rummaged in his backpack and took out a chocolate bar. He casually broke it in two and handed one half to Harry with a grin. "Mum used to take me here with my sister when I was small." 

Harry boggled. "You have a sister? You never told me!" 

Dennis shrugged, chewing his treat a little sadly. "We don't see each other very often," he said with his mouth full. "She was a baby when she was placed in foster care."

"Oh." Harry bit into the chocolate bar and chewed pensively. A question was wavering on the tip of his tongue, and after swallowing, he let it loose. "Why weren't you placed with her?" 

"The foster family didn't have room, and she was too young to live at the Children's Home." A scowl creased Dennis' face. "Social Services said it would only be temporary, but it's been three years, now. I didn't even spend last Christmas with her. At this rate, Miranda will forget me." He sighed, and sagged on the arm supporting him. "I really wish mum would come back." 

"…Where is she?" asked Harry shyly. 

Dennis winced. "In prison." He sent Harry a searching, slightly insecure look. "She's not a bad person. She just stole some things because she didn't have a job." 

"What did she steal?" 

Dennis hesitated, and then looked away. "…Okay, maybe a lot of things. But she's still not a bad person." 

Harry gave Dennis a gentle nudge with his elbow. "I believe you." 

The boy seemed surprised, and then relieved. "Oh. Well, that's good."

"Will she stay in prison for a long time?" 

Dennis lowered his head toward the hill beneath them. The afternoon was a fine one, and now that school was finished, they were not the only children in the park. Of course, the others were there with their parents, some of them running with their dog or playing football with their siblings. 

Dennis took a long time to respond, and in the end he said: "When she gets out, I'll be too old for the Children's Home anyway." 

Harry wanted to ask about Dennis's father, but refrained. His friend had already said that Riddle burned "his last memory" of him, so it was probably not a happy subject either. 

"Well," he said with a forced cheer, "at least we'll stay together. I don't have parents at all, so I'll probably stay there until I'm grown too." He swallowed his last mouthful of chocolate bar, and then said: "Want to play tag?" 

Dennis pretended to consider it, humming pensively, before suddenly rushing to his feet and tapping Harry on the shoulder. "You're it!" he shouted, running away down the hill. 

Harry dashed after him, laughing wildly.

 

 

֍֍֍

 

They played for a long time, running around chasing each other, climbing trees, and playing pirates on the fake ship on the playground. Harry hadn't felt this happy in a long time, but as the light started to dim and the sun to dip toward the skyscrapers on the horizon, he started to get anxious. 

"We should go, shouldn’t we? What time is it?" 

Dennis made a face of ignorance. Neither of them had a watch. "You're right. Jerry and the others should be tired of waiting for us by now. They're probably back at Wool's." 

They followed the wandering path out of the park, and by the time they found themselves on the street, the night had fallen. They didn't have any money for a bus and didn't know which one to take anyway, so they walked. Some passersby were starting to throw them lingering looks, maybe wondering why two schoolboys were out alone so late. An old lady even asked them if they were lost, and after reassuring her, they picked up their pace, almost running through the streets. Harry followed Dennis blindly, having no idea how to get back to Wool's on his own. 

As they were forced to wait at a red light, the clock tower on the other side of the street tolled seven p.m. 

"We're so screwed!" moaned Dennis, almost vibrating in urgency. 

"How much farther till Wool's?" asked Harry. 

"I think —" 

It happened so fast that Harry's mind took several seconds to comprehend it. One second Dennis was talking to him, and the next he was gone. The black car that was passing them made a horrible bumping sound before screeching to a halt, and screams resounded from other pedestrians while the rest of traffic scrambled to brake in time. 

Harry blinked, looking at the little feet lying under the car. They wore Dennis's red trainers. 

People were rushing to get out of their cars or cross the street. The driver of the black car stumbled out, face ashen. "He… he appeared out of nowhere! He… he just jumped, I swear! Oh my god! Oh my god!" 

Harry blinked again. This wasn't real. 

"I'm calling 999!" shouted a woman, while two men got on the side of the black car and started pushing it laterally so the tires wouldn't pass on… 

Dennis was revealed slowly as the car was moved. He was lying partly on his back, his backpack under him. There was so much blood everywhere that Harry didn't even know where he was hurt, exactly. Only that his eyes were closed and he wasn't moving. 

Harry swayed on his feet, vision blurry. 

"Does someone know emergency first-aid?" shouted a man kneeling next to Dennis. 

"You got to stop the blood!" 

"Oh my god, this is a child!" 

"They're sending an ambulance!" informed the woman on the phone. 

Harry didn't know what instinct made him do it, but he tore his gaze away from Dennis and looked across the street on the left. Right there, a small dark-haired figure was standing, looking back at him. 

Riddle waved and then disappeared at the corner of the street. 

Harry suddenly bent in two as if punched, all the air leaving him. This was Riddle's vengeance?! Harry had thought Dennis would start to find bugs in his bed or get doors slammed in his face too, not… not… 

"Are you alright, love?" asked a woman's voice in concern. "Is it your friend?" 

A horrible rage ignited inside Harry like a living creature, slashing claws and ripping at his chest. He suddenly felt bigger than himself, felt himself swell and burn… He would track down Riddle and… 

There were shouts as the lights in the street flickered and stopped. Even the houses' windows went dark, the silhouettes of the people barely visible as they gathered around the child’s body. Still, it was enough for them to look around in shock as a strange metallic sound vibrated through the night, followed by a massive crash of glass breaking. 

"The… the cars!" said an astonished voice. 

Stunned and frightened whispers were heard as the adults realised the same thing: the cars were trembling.

On their own. 

"What's happening?" cried the woman next to Harry. He had already taken two steps to go after Riddle, but the woman pulled him roughly to herself in a gesture of protection. It jolted him back to the present moment. "Is it an earthquake?" 

Everything stopped just as she asked that. The street lights buzzed back to life, illuminating the alarmed faces of adults and glittering shards of glass on the floor. Several car windows and even what seemed to be a street light-bulb had shattered. The sight made Harry's mindless rage falter. 

Wait. Did I do that? 

It could have been Riddle, lingering around to cause more trouble. But Harry didn't really entertain the thought. He knew what he had just felt. 

He winced, touching the place where his pendant was resting on his skin. It was literally cold as ice. He hurried to pass it above his clothes, his gaze going to rest once more on the bloodied form of Dennis. The rage definitely passed in the background as dismayed grief engulfed him. He staggered forward. 

"Oh, love, I don't think…," said the woman, trying to stop him. 

He didn't listen, slipping out of her grasp and going to stop next to Dennis. He kneeled on the asphalt. 

"Kid, step back," warned one of the men pressing fabric into what was probably Dennis' open wounds. 

"Don't touch him…" warned another, before sighing as Harry laid his hand on Dennis' cheek anyway. 

This was the strangest thing. Harry could feel him. Not with his hand, but with… another sense. It wasn't touch, it wasn't taste, and it wasn't smell--but somehow, it was all of it at once. The essence of Dennis was around him, getting stronger and stronger. Harry sensed kindness and optimism mixed with a deep sadness, he sensed the smell of oranges, freshly cut grass, and a bumbling toddler with blond curls reaching toward him and saying "Dani!" He sensed love and resentment for a tall woman who didn't have a name other than "Mum," and an empty, sad void where "Dad" should have been. 

He is close. The thought came unbidden in his head. Strangely, it didn't sound like him. Nonetheless, Harry knew what it meant. 

It wasn't good that he felt the boy so strongly. Dennis was supposed to stay inside Dennis, he knew that instinctively. If too much of him left, it wouldn't be able to go back inside. It would go… somewhere else. So, Harry tried to push the essence back toward his friend. 

It does not work like that , said the voice, gently chiding. And now, Harry startled, because it definitely wasn't him and the glimpse he had gotten of the talker was frankly scary. The presence was as deep and dark as space itself, and so, so cold. 

As cold as his pendant, which was burning ice through his clothes. 

Remember what we talked about, Harry , said the entity. 

What? thought Harry, before refocusing on Dennis. His essence didn't want to go back to its owner, it was resisting. I need to put it back inside! he thought, frustrated. 

You cannot, said the entity. It will do what it wants to do. 

No! Dennis needs it!

It is Dennis , countered the entity. And if he does not want to stay in a broken body, then I am here to take him away. 

Harry stopped, and then resolutely decided not to think about the implications of this sentence. It wasn't the time. He HAS to stay in his body! Help me put him back inside!

Harry felt bemusement from the entity, like the idea was so ludicrous it couldn't even compute. A Soul does what it wants. 

If Dennis could talk, he would say he wants to stay in his body! Harry pushed with all his might against the essence of Dennis. Help me! 

"I don't feel his pulse anymore!" shouted one of the men kneeling next to Dennis. 

Harry was roughly pushed aside, his hand slipping from Dennis' cheek. 

"How long until the ambulance?" cried someone else. 

"We have to do something!" 

Harry watched his unconscious friend with horror, feeling his essence stronger than ever. It must be all out now. 

It is time , said the entity. Harry felt it reach for Dennis' essence. 

"NO!" screamed Harry aloud without noticing. "DON'T TOUCH HIM! HELP ME!" 

He tried to go back to Dennis, who was receiving mouth to mouth from one of the men, but the woman from earlier caught him from behind. 

"It's alright, love," she said in a watery voice. "Don't look. Come with me." 

"WE HAVE TO PUT HIM BACK INSIDE!" he screamed, struggling. Several of the adults threw him troubled looks, but Harry couldn't care less, fully concentrated on the entity and on Dennis' essence. 

It is not done , said the entity. 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, he just couldn't! 

"Who is he talking to?" 

"Where is this freaking ambulance?!" 

Harry felt the entity deliberate, slowly, too slowly. Dennis' essence was already unravelling, like the edges of a cloud in the wind, and Harry could do nothing. 

Do you need him for your design? finally asked the entity.

It was nonsensical, but Harry rushed to answer anyway. "Yes! I can't do it without him!" 

"The kid's lost it!" 

"Take him away, for God's sake!" 

Hmmm … said the entity. Then maybe… maybe an exception could be made. But it will have heavy consequences, you do realise? 

"Yes! Just do it!" 

… So be it , said the entity. Touch his body, skin on skin. 

The woman had managed to drag him away a few meters, whispering comforting words to him. He had let himself be led away while he was arguing with the entity, but now he ripped himself from the woman's grasp. She was too surprised by his sudden escape to react in time. 

"Hey!" shouted one of the men. 

Harry threw himself down next to Dennis and caught his friend's hand. Immediately, he felt Dennis' essence —his Soul — be squeezed back inside its body. It shrieked without sound as it did so, making Harry shudder violently. But his grip held firm. 

The people around were trying to pry them apart, but they couldn't be too firm about it in fear of hurting Dennis more. Harry kept their hands clenched until the last of Dennis' soul had gone back inside. To his great relief, the shrieking stopped. 

It is done , said the entity. 

Harry sagged in contentment, letting go of Dennis' hand. He was immediately taken away, but he let it happen. The ambulance's siren was audible from a few streets away when one of the men exclaimed: 

"Hey! He's breathing again!" 

People cheered, and Harry smiled, exhausted. 

His pendant was colder than death. 

 

 

֍֍֍

 

Harry had ridden shotgun in the ambulance while the EMTs were hurriedly tending to Dennis in the back. His friend had been sent to surgery right away upon their arrival and Harry had been left to sit on one of the hall benches. He had been happy to drift away for almost an hour, staring vacantly at his pendant — which had gone back to a normal temperature — when a nurse finally approached him to ask where his parents were. 

He hadn't been in any hurry to give the name of Wool's, anticipating the mountain of trouble he would be in as soon as Mrs Cole was notified. But a look at the clock let him know that it was almost nine, and that the night calling would soon take place. Better to warn them before they could see for themselves that they were missing two children. 

He was given a coke and told to wait in the line of sight of the nurse's desk. 

Mrs Cole arrived in a brown coat half an hour later but, strangely, she didn't yell at Harry on sight. Instead, she pressed him roughly against her chest. 

"You stupid boys," she sighed, half-chiding, half-sad. 

"I'm sorry," said Harry, voice empty.  

"Yes, well… What's done is done. We'll talk about it later." She stepped away. "Stay here, I will try to get an update on your partner in crime." 

She went to the desk and, after talking a little with the nurse and gesturing toward Harry, she disappeared behind two sliding doors. He went back to stare at his pendant. It helped him not to think. 

Mrs Cole returned an indeterminate amount of time later. 

"He's still in surgery," she said, stopping before Harry's bench. "I have time to make a quick round trip to bring you back to Wool's. Come on." 

"How is his body?" asked Harry, following her toward the exit. 

Mrs Cole threw him a strange look. After a beat, she said: "We'll know more later. But don't worry, they think he will survive." 

Oh, Harry wasn't worried about that anymore. 

The ride home was pretty quiet. When they stopped in the parking lot at the side of Wool's, Mrs Cole simply turned to him and asked matter-of-factly, "Do you need to talk to someone about what you saw?" 

Harry blinked, coming back to himself. 

Do I need to? 

Yes , came the fervent response. 

But can I? 

Harry was maybe young and inexperienced, but he knew he would be sent to a mental hospital if he talked about what had happened tonight. What he had done… it wasn't supposed to be possible. After knowing Riddle, maybe the children of Wool's would have believed him… but would it be a good idea to tell them? 

Riddle . The name came like a punch in the stomach, and the valves of his anger opened again, letting it flow back steadily. 

Riddle

"Harry?" 

He shook his head. "No, I'm good." 

Mrs Cole narrowed her eyes. "Well, maybe you should anyway. I'll try to advance your appointment with the psychologist. I found you one for June, if I remember correctly, but that's a little far away to my taste." 

Mrs Cole accompanied him inside, saying she needed to talk to the supervisors still on duty before heading back to the hospital. In the hall, Harry had the surprise to see Amy, Billy, Jack and Eric sitting on the chairs, looking dejected. Amy shot to her feet when she saw them. 

"Harry!" 

She ran toward him and engulfed him in a tight hug. "Oh, Harry, it's so horrible!" she said with tears in her voice. 

From behind her, he could see the boys approaching as well. 

But the door to the playroom was open, and he saw something else too. 

Riddle was sitting on one of the couches, reading. 

Harry pushed Amy away and charged right at him. "I'LL KILL YOU, RIDDLE!" he roared. 

Surprised shouts came from behind him, and Mrs Cole thundered something, but Harry didn't listen. Riddle lifted his head from his book, mouth round with shock. He had the presence of mind to get up just before Harry reached him. 

"You.." he started. 

Whatever poison he was about to spew was smashed under Harry's fist. 

Harry and Riddle shouted in pain at the same time, and the latter fell behind on the couch, holding his nose. Harry shook his hand in the air — he had never punched someone before, it hurt really bad — before launching himself back at Riddle. "I'LL KILL YOU!" he kept repeating through punches and kicks. "YOU'RE DEAD, YOU MONSTER!" 

Riddle was fighting back, but Harry didn't even feel his blows, he was so mad. Finally, hands gripped him by the arms and dragged him back. 

"THAT'S ENOUGH!" bellowed Mrs Cole while Martha was rushing to Riddle's side. Harry sneered at the sight. 

Mrs Cole came to tower above Harry, face furious but, above all, appalled. "What is the meaning of this?" she bit out. 

She wouldn't believe him, Harry knew. He told it anyway. "He's the one who pushed Dennis under the car." 

Gasps were heard around the room from the other children. Several of them threw frightened glances at the injured boy, believing it immediately. Mrs Cole narrowed her eyes, but it was Martha who spoke up. "Harry, don't be ridiculous. Tom was here when the accident happened." 

"No, he wasn't! I SAW him!" 

Riddle's dark eyes gleamed viciously above the napkin Martha was pressing against his nose. They were fixated right on Harry. "I waz on homework dudy undil dinner," he said in a vindictive tone. He turned toward one of the girls sitting near a toybox in the corner of the room, a five year old with chocolate skin and wide scared eyes. "Zarah, you were with me. Dell them." 

Mrs Cole turned toward the girl. "Is it true, Sarah?" 

Harry didn't think he could get any more angry, but when Sarah threw a frightened glance at Riddle and then nodded, he did. "He's LYING!" he shouted, straining against the strong hands restraining him. They belonged to Percy, he realised when the man told him: 

"Calm down, kid. You must be confused." 

"Confused or not," said Mrs Cole in a voice as cutting as a knife, "it is not an excuse to attack a fellow comrade in this way! After the stunt you already pulled today, I can scarcely believe what I just witnessed with my own eyes. You'll be confined in your dorm until I decide on disciplinary action against this outrageous behavior!" 

She nodded sharply to Percy. "Take him away." 

Harry wasn't surprised, but the unfairness of it all still burned. He kept glaring at Riddle as he was led away, feeling hate pulse inside him. But as they were about to pass the door of the playroom, Riddle spoke. 

"How is Bishop?" 

To anyone, his tone would have only carried genuine concern, but Harry heard the sly taunting underneath. He even said it looking right into Harry's eyes. 

I will kill you , promised Harry with his gaze before turning away and letting Percy take him. 

After all, it seems like Death and I are on a first name basis. 

 

֍֍֍

 

 

The dorm was surprisingly empty considering it was after curfew. The boys must have been allowed to stay up because of the extraordinary circumstances. Harry plopped down fully clothed on his bed, and took a few minutes to breathe and calm himself. 

He wouldn't kill Riddle. Not really. But God, he wanted to make him suffer so bad. After all, the other boy had tried to kill Dennis. And would have succeeded if… 

Harry took out his pendant again and looked at it in the light of the ceiling lamps, twirling it between his fingers. 

His only possession on earth. Before, he had assumed that it had been a gift from relatives, but now he wondered if it was only that. Why did it become icy during the incident? And had he really felt Dennis' soul ? Had the entity he had talked with really been...

...Death?

And had they brought back Dennis from the freaking dead? Or had he still been alive, seeing as Death hadn't taken him yet? 

This was so gigantic that Harry's mind wouldn't wrap around it. It kept wanting to pass it off as a delusion. Maybe Harry had invented it all. Maybe they would have been right to send him to a mental hospital. 

He would have been relieved to be crazy. And all could have been chalked up to that, except for one thing… 

The street lights going dark. The cars trembling. The glass exploding.

The force he had felt inside him hadn't just been in his mind. It had been out there , wreaking havoc.  And now, the feeling reminded him of other times. 

The first evening, when he had freed himself from Riddle's power. 

The bathroom incident, just before the pipe exploded. 

He already believed in the supernatural. Anyone would, after being harassed by Riddle as he had been. But he didn't believe in it for him ! For him, it felt ludicrous, the height of arrogance and lunacy. Maybe… maybe he really had hallucinations, and maybe the cars shaking and the lights had been an earthquake, like the lady had said. 

And the pipe… well, a coincidence. 

But at what point did the want to find a rational explanation become delusional? 

If Riddle can do these sorts of things , said a reasonable voice in his mind, why couldn't you? 

And Riddle's claims. Was all this connected to the way he had supposedly "appeared out of nowhere" with a green light two months ago? A green light like in his dreams? 

God, there were so many unanswered questions. The problem was, there were only two people who may be able to answer them. 

The first was probably Death itself, and Harry would rather never know than ask the second one. 

The door opened and the rest of his dormmates came into the room. Eric and Billy were amongst them. They went straight to Harry as he straightened and tucked his pendant under his shirt. The other boys threw them side glances but went to their beds to change. 

"Is it true?" asked Eric in a low voice. A tense kind of energy was vibrating off of him. "Did Riddle push Dennis?" 

Harry knew the rest of the dorm was listening for his response, so he gave it aloud. "Yes. Riddle tried to kill him." 

Billy gasped, and he wasn't the only one. Eric seemed frozen. 

"He really is a psychopath," the taller boy breathed. Then, his face darkened in heartbreak and rage. "Go to bed, Billy," he said. 

Billy hesitated, looking between Eric and Harry, but he eventually obeyed, leaving with a bowed head. 

Eric kneeled next to Harry's bed, and Harry leaned toward him to hear what he whispered. "No one is gonna punish Riddle, will they?" 

The rage dormant under Harry's skin prickled. " I will," he promised. 

Eric's eyes widened. He threw a look toward the other boys before whispering: "You're really gonna kill him?" 

Harry didn't respond right away. 

"No," he finally admitted. "But I'm gonna make him wish I did." 

Eric nodded in satisfaction. "I'm game."

A flutter of panic went through Harry's heart, the image of red trainers sticking out from under a car flashing before his eyes. "No," he murmured harshly. "I don't want to involve you." 

"Well, tough luck, because I'm involving myself," whispered Eric furiously. "You've known Dennis for two months — I've known him for two years, okay? This is not just your thing." 

"But you see what happened to him…"

"Yeah, that's why I want to bring this bastard down. I'm done with being scared. He can't just be allowed to continue like that." 

Harry searched Eric's eyes and saw a determination that he wouldn't be able to shake. He really didn't feel good about involving the boy… but something told him that he would move against Riddle even if Harry refused to partner with him. 

He sighed. "Okay. Let's do this together." He hesitated. Take the plunge or not? Finally, he took a big breath and added: "Let's talk tomorrow, in a private place. There's something I need to tell you." 

"What is it?" asked Eric. 

Harry smiled. "Let's say that we may have an advantage."

 

Notes:

I wasn't kidding about ENEMIES to friends, right? ^^'
This ship is really fighting against me, but with time it's gonna get in line, just you wait.

Chapter 4: Are you angry yet?

Summary:

This was turning into a ginormous chapter, so here, have two short ones instead of a big one!

Chapter Text

"Try again!" 

Sitting in the grass, Harry gave Eric a tired look — tired in all the possible ways. But still, he focused back on the leaf laying in front of them and pushed with his mind. He had the instinct that he was doing it in a needlessly difficult way, like it ought to be much easier with some kind of tool… but tools to move things with your mind hadn't been invented yet. So he persevered, sweat pooling on his brow despite the chill of early March. Come on you bloody sloth! Now you're gonna freaking move! 

The leaf rose a few inches in the air and swirled away a little. Harry shot up to his knees and whooped. "Did you see?! I did it!" 

Eric smacked him on the head. "It's the wind, you dipshit!" 

"Oh." Harry sat back, disheartened. His hair was swaying in every direction with the breeze. 

They were hiding in Wool's yard behind the dilapidated shed, like they had done every evening for a week. That was where Harry had dragged Eric the morning after Dennis' incident and had told him about the streetlights going off, the windows breaking, and the pipe exploding. 

He hadn't mentioned Death. It seemed a little intense for a first conversation. Besides, Harry was already trying really hard not to think about it. 

When he had told him, Harry had fully expected Eric to call him crazy, or at least to doubt him, but the boy had just been… weirdly vindicated? 

"I knew there was something off about you!" 

"Thanks a lot…" had grumbled Harry, not knowing how to take this. 

"No, I mean… things have been going off the rails since you showed up. The lying in the snow in your pyjamas, the no-memories thing, the way Riddle is becoming even more insane now, all the incidents… Now I understand why Riddle is so fixated on you! It's because you're the same!" 

There, Harry had actually pushed Eric hard. "Take that back!" 

Eric had stepped back, hands up. "Calm down, I'm just talking about the powers! Harry, this is so cool! Now we have a mutant on our side!" A contemplative, excited look had gone over his features. "We should find you a superhero name…" 

This was going a little fast. "Riddle knows how to use his powers — I don't. I only ever did it by accident!" 

Eric had drilled him with a look of dark determination. "Then you're gonna learn." 

The plan was to beat Riddle at his own game, though the details hadn't been hashed out yet. Ideas were still flying around wildly when they whispered about it. Destroy something he cared deeply about? Frame him for things like he did to Harry? Hurt him physically? (Eric wanted to push him under a car too, which Harry found a little extreme. But he wouldn't have said no to making Riddle bleed a little.) Destroy his reputation of big bad bully? That one was Harry's favourite, though the boy had such a hold over Wool's that it would be very difficult.

Well, clearly, everything would be difficult as long as they weren't on even footing with Riddle. And so, every day they came here and Harry tried to move things with his mind like their enemy could. 

For now, it was proving to be remarkably useless. 

"Maybe I can't move things," said Harry, staring at the leaf with dejection and the beginning of a headache. "Maybe I can just break them." 

Or maybe you really imagined it all , whispered a sly voice inside his head. It was getting stronger every day. 

"You gotta practice," insisted Eric, not giving up in the least. "To break the pipe and the car windows, you had to move things with your mind. In every superhero movie, the mutant has to learn to use his powers the hard way." 

"Would you stop calling me a mutant?" 

Eric was about to answer, when the frightened voice of a boy sounded behind them. "What powers?" 

Eric and Harry shot to their feet and whirled around, coming face to face with Amy and Billy. They were both looking at them in shock. Or rather, at Harry

"What are you doing here?" asked Eric harshly. "You spying on us, or what?" 

Amy frowned at him, even though she seemed to have trouble tearing her eyes away from Harry. "You're always hiding together," she said sternly. "That's weird." 

"And?" challenged Eric. "That's our business. If we want to…" 

"What powers?" repeated the high, scared voice of Billy. He was staring at Harry like he was a dangerous animal ready to attack at any moment. He was looking at him like… 

…like he was looking at Riddle. 

Harry's heart twisted. "Billy…" 

"Are you one too?" asked the ginger boy in a horrified tone. 

"I…" 

"It's a game," interrupted Eric. "We're pretending we have powers. It's not forbidden, is it?" 

Relief washed over Harry at this explanation. A relief that wavered when he saw the unconvinced faces of Amy and Billy. 

"A game," said Amy flatly. 

"The pipe…" said Billy. "You just said that the pipe exploding was you! You… you're like Tom Riddle!" 

Harry couldn't help it — he glared at Billy, feeling his usual anger rise like every time this insinuation was made by Eric. "Shut up! You don't know what you're talking about!" 

Since his arrival at Wool's, Harry had often wondered if the universe had something against him. He seemed to be too unlucky for it to be normal. 

This was one of these times. 

Anger vibrating inside him, Harry soon felt something else rise — something he had tried to recreate for a week, and that now chose to appear at the worst moment. He hurriedly tried to reel it in, but it was too late, the surge had already shot out of his body. 

Harry felt it like a new limb when his power smashed into Billy and sent him to the ground. The shock of what he had just done made his anger — and his power — evaporate, but it was already too late. Billy looked up at him with horror. 

"Billy, I'm sor--" he started. 

Billy let out a squeaking yelp and scrambled to get up. He ran away like Riddle himself was chasing him. 

"Shit!" spat Eric, before launching himself after Billy. "Billy! Come back!" 

Harry and Amy found themselves alone behind the shed. He slid a shy glance her way, and couldn't parse the way she was looking at him. 

"I…" he started without knowing what he was going to say. 

"Why did you tell Eric and not us?" she asked. 

Harry shuffled awkwardly. "Well… he approached me. You and Billy still won't talk to me in public." 

To be fair, Eric didn't talk to him in public either. They had decided to keep a low profile while they worked on their plan against Riddle. With how the boy had reacted to Harry getting one friend back, it was best not to play with fire. That would also be one less target for Jerry's gang — though they were surprisingly disinterested in him this week. Harry kept expecting to be jumped in hallways, seeing as they hadn’t yet taken their revenge for the bathroom incident, but for now it hadn't happened. 

He wasn't going to complain. 

Here and now, Amy looked away, cheeks reddening. "I'm sorry that I'm not here for you. It's just that…" 

"No, no, I didn't mean…" Harry stopped himself, then sighed. "I'm not mad at you. It's just… I wasn't sure you still wanted something to do with me. Or how you'd react." 

They both looked in the direction Billy had run off. Harry turned to Amy, and added: "Actually, I'm surprised at how well you seem to be taking this?" 

Amy sent him another strange, unfathomable look. But then, she smiled — a slight, fragile thing, but still. "I don't really know how to 'take this'," she said. "But I guess… the world is really not how adults think it is." 

Harry laughed at that. "Yeah, not even one bit." 

She laughed too, a little shakily. Then she looked him up and down. "You want to… practice again?" 

"No. I'm not getting anywhere anyway. Let's go back inside. Maybe I can talk to Billy." 

They made their way back to Wool's building, each lost in their own thoughts. 

And then suddenly, Amy grabbed him by the arm and dragged him behind a tree. 

"What are—"

"Hush!" she whispered furiously, looking at some point behind the tree. "He'll see us!" 

Harry followed her gaze, taking care to stay behind their slim shelter. None other than Riddle was getting out of the thick underbrush on the right side of the yard, making his way toward Wool's too. He thankfully didn't look back. 

They waited until Riddle had disappeared behind the door to step away from the tree. 

"What was he doing in there?" asked Harry, peering intently toward the thick bushes. Left to grow as much as they wanted, they formed a kind of small jungle and almost hid the high wall that encircled the yard. 

Harry veered toward the place from where Riddle had emerged, at first walking briskly and then breaking into a light jog. 

"Harry, what are you doing?" asked Amy, struggling to keep up behind him. 

"I just want to see." 

He slowed down when approaching the bushes and scrutinised the vegetation. Not seeing anything, he carefully made his way in from where Riddle had gone out. 

"Harry, it's full of bugs in here!" said Amy in a disgusted voice. 

But Harry didn't see any bugs as the branches and leaves rustled against his clothes. He actually couldn't see much of anything — until, hidden from the yard, the bushes opened onto what was almost a small cavern from the way the foliage made a sort of roof overhead. On the ground, there was a rusty metal box and a rolled up blanket. 

Movement attracted his eye on the edge of the clearing, and he turned his head just in time to see the tail of a grey snake disappear under the bushes. 

Oh, that's right , thought Harry. He can talk to snakes. 

And then: What?

"Harry?" called Amy from behind the bushes. "I can't see you anymore!" 

"Just a sec!" 

Harry was actually less troubled by the fact that Riddle could talk to snakes, and more by the fact that, not only Harry knew it without having learned it, but it seemed so natural, too. Like this wasn't unexpected at all. 

Could Harry talk to snakes too? 

A flash of a giant snake slithering out of the mouth of an enormous stone head came to him, coated in a distant sense of primal fear. Harry blinked, letting the afterimage dissipate, and decided he didn't really want to test this ability after all. 

He knelt in front of the box and tried to open it, but saw that it was locked with a small padlock. He sighed, annoyed. What was Riddle hiding in there that he didn't want to hide in the safety of his private room? Dead pigeons? A human head? A book about the 101 ways to be a perfect psychopath? 

He's probably boning up on this one every evening. 

Maybe Eric or Amy knew how to pick locks? It would be useful to learn what was in that box. The more they knew about Riddle, the easier it would be to take him down. 

Harry returned to Amy and told her what he had seen, causing her to swear in horror that she would never set one more foot inside the yard if there were snakes in it. 

They met Eric in the second floor hallway, who directed them away from the Blue dorm. "Billy's in there." 

"Great," said Harry. "I want to talk to—"

Eric shook his head emphatically. "No. He's not ready." Seeing that Harry wanted to argue, the taller boy insisted. "I know him better than you. Believe me, it's better to leave him time. He already said he wouldn't talk to anyone." 

Harry was more concerned that Billy wouldn't talk to him ever again, but ended up trusting Eric. They went to Amy's dormitory, a smaller one down the hall with three bunk beds and pink walls. Like every time they entered the room, Eric made an exaggerated gagging noise. 

"Yeah, we know," groused Amy. "Pink, how terrible." 

She checked the top beds to see if the dorm was really empty, and then turned directly to Harry. 

"I had an idea while you were playing with snakes." 

"Ex cuse me?" said Eric. "Snakes?" 

"I'll explain later," answered Harry. "What idea?" 

"I left you five minutes…" muttered Eric. 

"When did you manage to use your powers?" asked Amy. 

Harry went to sit on her bed. "Well… I think I did my first night here, when Riddle tried to paralyse me with his powers. I broke out of his hold." Amy nodded pensively, gesturing for him to continue. "Then… well, you heard it. It was with the pipe. Then with Billy earlier, when he said what he said. And before that…" He gulped, hating to be reminded of that evening. "When Dennis was hit by the car. I saw Riddle on the other side of the street, and… I lost it. The street lights all went dark, the cars around started to shake, and their windows broke." 

Amy was now looking at him with a hint of fear. Even Eric, who had heard the story before, had something very close to awe in his gaze. 

"It only lasted a few seconds, I swear," Harry hurried to say. "And I didn't do it on purpose." 

Amy nodded slowly. Her initial fear was fading, though she still looked shaken. "But you were angry," she said. 

Understatement of the year. "Yeah." 

"You were also angry when Riddle cornered you the first night, and when Jerry's gang attacked you. Right?" 

Harry widened his eyes, coming to the same realisation than her. "Oh!" 

"What?" asked Eric. 

"He needs to be angry to use his powers," said Amy. 

"Ah! Like the Hulk!" he exclaimed, like that solved everything. He turned to Harry. "So we just need to make you angry. Want me to insult you, you piece of shit?" 

"Not here!" cried out Amy, throwing an alarmed glance at the window. 

"Don't worry, Amy," said Harry, sending a caustic smile to Eric. "What Eric says always goes in one of my ears and out the other." 

"Hey!" exclaimed Eric, affronted. 

"Anyway," said Amy, "in these moments, you always use your powers by accident. I think you need to channel your anger and try to do something on purpose now." 

Harry was about to respond that it was a good idea when the door suddenly opened. They all startled and whipped around, finding Martha in the threshold. 

"Ah!" she said when her eyes landed on Harry. "I've been looking for you everywhere. Mrs Cole wants to see you." 

Oh, crap . "What have I done now?" he sighed. 

Martha laughed. "Nothing, sweetheart. She just wants to warn you that the psychologist is here for you." 

She went to pat him on the shoulder, gently directing him out of the room. 

"Time to get rid of these anger issues, now!" 

 

֍֍֍

 

"So you don't remember anything before you woke up at the hospital two months ago?" asked Mrs Chapson's sweet, empathetic voice. 

"Apart from my name, no," replied Harry, concentrating on the picture of pirates he was drawing. 

"Apart from your name, of course. I'm sorry." 

It was striking how much faster an appointment with a psychologist could be found once you tried to beat up one of your year-mates publicly. The downside was that the psychologist in question then tended to treat you like a time bomb ready to explode. 

The other downside was that it was taking Harry's free time away for this useless thing. 

Mrs Cole had let them use one of the side offices for their session — a little peach room with a worn couch, a table, a water-cooler, and one of these false plants Wool's was so fond of. As soon as they were alone, Harry had asked the grey-haired woman if she could help him get his memory back. She had made a complicated speech about how talking about it might help, and that therapy was a long process, and the mind was full of wonders and tricks, and blah blah blah. So, in essence: no, she couldn't. 

"What does that make you feel?" continued Mrs Chapson. "It must be very difficult." 

Harry shrugged, continuing to draw. Maybe this session could at least serve to have a drawing to give to Dennis at the hospital. They would visit him on Saturday. 

They still didn't know if he would walk again. 

"Do you often feel angry?" asked the psychologist kindly. "Have the urge to break things or hit people?" 

They had been here for fifteen minutes and Harry was already so done. Even if he hadn't wanted to keep his (very justified) anger for magical purposes, why would he have wanted to speak to a perfect stranger who already had her own ideas about him? 

"I'm not breaking things," he said curtly. 

From the corner of his eye, he saw the woman give him a sad smile. Mrs Cole had told her everything, Harry knew, and so she didn't believe him for one second. "Alright," she said. "And hitting people?"  

Harry scowled. His grip on his coloured pencil tightened and he had to make a conscious effort not to draw beyond the lines. "I don't hit people — only Tom Riddle." And he's not a person, he's a monster . "And he deserved it," summed up Harry. 

Mrs Chapson frowned, though she still managed to do it kindly. "So some people deserve to be hit sometimes?" 

For the first time since the woman had offered him to draw if he wanted, Harry looked up at her for real. And glared. She was twisting his words. "So if someone pushed your best friend under a car and killed him," he said,  "you wouldn't want to hit that person?" 

She leaned toward him, her elbows on the table. "I would probably want to hit that person very badly. But what we want and what is intelligent to do are not always the same thing. Don't you agree?" 

Harry raised his eyebrows. "So I shouldn't have hit him because it wasn't intelligent ? Not because it was wrong?" 

The psychologist gave him a long look. The silence made Harry a little uneasy, until she spoke again: 

"Why do you think Tom pushed Dennis under a car?" 

"Because I saw him there!" 

Mrs Chapson smiled. "No, I meant, what do you think his motivations were?" 

Harry boggled. A fragile hope dared to bloom inside him, and he said in a quiet voice: "You believe me?" 

"What I believe doesn't matter," said the woman, making his hope wither. "It's what you believe that's important, and you believe that Tom did it. Why, in your opinion?" 

That was easy, at least. "For vengeance. Dennis disobeyed him." 

Mrs Chapson raised an eyebrow. "Disobeyed?" 

"He told Dennis not to be my friend anymore, and Dennis didn't listen." 

The woman nodded slowly, pensively. "So, Dennis did something Tom didn't like, and so Tom physically punished him." 

"Yes." Was it so difficult to understand? God, but Amy was right. Adults were slow. 

"A little like you, then," said Mrs Chapson, looking frankly at Harry. 

He sat up as if he had been stung. " What ?" 

"He did something you disapproved of, and you physically hurt him. It seems to me that you both think some people deserve to be hurt." 

"I… no, it's…" She was twisting his words again! "I didn't push him under a CAR!" 

"I didn't say you did," she said with a soothing smile. "Just that you seem to have the same way of reacting." 

What was it with people saying he was the same as Tom Riddle? It was so unfair! "That's… that's not the same!" he exclaimed. "HE DID IT FIRST!" 

"So if Dennis had hit him first, Tom would have been justified?" 

"Of course not! You shouldn't throw people under cars!" 

He was getting really worked up, and the old woman leaned forward to put a hand on his. "Harry, I'm not saying this for you to feel attacked. I just want to show you that there exists a thing called the cycle of violence . Tom was violent, and it made you mad — as it rightly should — so you were violent to him in turn. What happens next? Tom may get violent in retaliation, and so, according to your logic, you will need to hit him again… except, what does this accomplish except create more violence? Does it help Dennis? Does it make Tom understand that violence is wrong and that he shouldn't use it when he's mad? How could he, when you use it too and you're the one who's 'right'?" 

Harry was speechless for a few seconds. It seemed so stupid when she put it like that. But at the same time… "Riddle knows violence is wrong. He just does it because he likes being the boss." 

She sighed. "You know, Harry, I've been a psychologist for a long time, now. People always have reasons for what they do, even when they do terrible, horrible things. I have come to the conclusion that these bad behaviours come from twisted, misguided ways to see the world, a lot of the time because these people have been hurt before. In thirty years, I've treated a lot of patients who did very bad things, and yet, I don't think I've met a single person who was genuinely evil." 

Harry looked down on his drawing, troubled. "Then why does Riddle want to be above everyone?" he asked. 

"I would need to speak to him to know that. But some people are so full of negative emotions that they take it out on others, or on objects around them. With help, this can be overcome." 

Harry would have wanted to keep digging into the subject, but Mrs Chapson had then veered off on tips about how to tell when you needed help, and how to control your anger. Not all of it was completely useless, to his surprise. Maybe some advice in there could help him channel his anger for his powers. She then asked him a lot of questions that must be standard: about how he liked it here, if he was annoyed that there were so many children around, and if he liked nature , of all things. The session came to an end quicker than he had expected. 

"Goodbye, Harry," she said, escorting him to the door. "You'll work on what we talked about, right?" 

Harry found himself surprisingly honest when he answered: "Yes. Will we see each other again?" 

She smiled, pleased. "Maybe. But if it's not me, it will be someone else just as nice." 

They parted ways. It was almost dinner time, and Harry slowly made his way to the dining hall, thoughts churning. 

He could never forgive Riddle for throwing Dennis under a car. And for that matter, he wasn't certain he believed Mrs Chapson when she said she hadn't met a single evil person. Maybe she had just been fooled. 

Was Riddle evil, though? 

Yes , hissed the part of him still reeling over what had happened last week. 

…I don't know , admitted a calmer, more compassionate part. He hadn't thought before about why Riddle was absolutely hell bent on dominating everyone and overall being a prick, and now that the idea had been implanted in his head, he couldn't help but feel curious. Was Riddle born a horrible person, or did something happen to him? 

And if so, could it be reversed? 

"I think your design can be done. But know this: Fate will fight against you." 

Harry stumbled, catching himself on the wall. He would recognise that voice anywhere. 

The voice of Death. 

Harry stayed frozen, waiting for the cold, endless presence to arrive… but nothing happened. It's just one of these flashes , he realised, relieved and confused at the same time. These flashes that honestly felt like memories. 

Death had hinted that Harry and… it had talked before. He would have bet that this flash had been part of this forgotten conversation. He could almost remember what his response had been, it was on the tip of his tongue… 

He had laughed. "Fate and I have never been friends, anyway." 

Who the hell had he been before? Having superpowers? Knowing giant snakes, creepy forests, and being casual acquaintances with Death? Appearing here out of nowhere with no memories? Seriously, 

What. 

The.

Hell?

He was jolted out of his thoughts by a vicious grip on his arm. He turned his head, bracing himself to see the victorious faces of Jerry and his gang… and found instead the dark and serious eyes of Tom Riddle. 

"We need to talk," said his enemy.

 

Chapter 5: The Revelation

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

After his striking show of power, Tom had thought that he would have a very nice week. With Childress screaming from rooftops that Tom had provoked Bishop's "accident," everyone at Wool's and even at school was even more cowed and terrified than usual. Of course, the dark looks and whispers that were always sent his way had increased in intensity, but Tom generously allowed them. He almost loved these impotent shows of anger — it proved that the others couldn't do anything against him.

Except that all week, Tom's mind had been restless, returning obsessively to Childress' rage that night.

Alright, so it had rattled him a little. For some reason, he had expected Childress to finally be broken by the move against his friend, not to come back a hundred times more intense than he had been before. Tom had done it to punish Bishop's defiance, of course, but his main target had been Childress. After watching from afar the two boys laugh, play and generally being so happy in the park, Tom had felt… weird. A lonely, uncomfortable feeling had taken root inside him, and it had made him angry . Angrier than he had been in a very, very long time.

He had expressly forbidden them to see each other. And yet, they had defied him. Worse, they didn't even seem to think about him.

If you weren't obsessed with me, I wouldn't even know you exist.

Why was Childress so set on hanging out with Bishop anyway? The boy was weak. He had abandoned him before. He was a sheep that cried easily, did what he was told, and was scared of Tom just like all the others. He was nothing remarkable, and yet Childress had looked at him all day like he had hung the moon.

Had he told his secrets to Bishop? The secrets he was denying Tom?

This idea had made his rage boil over.

It had been glorious to see Bishop's face when Tom suddenly pushed him into the street. He hadn't really thought about what he wanted to happen beyond that, so, when Bishop had been outright rolled over and hadn't made a peep, Tom had had a moment of dismay. Was he dead?

Would this be a good or a bad thing?

Relief mixed with disappointment passed through Tom when passersby had shouted for emergency first-aid and he had concluded that Bishop was still alive. Having Bishop gone forever would have been fantastic, but what consequences would it have?

Well, the consequences had been a breathtaking show of power, the likes of which Tom himself wasn't sure he could have topped. Darkness falling, cars shaking, this aura so cold and yet warm inside, so pure and light and just powerful . And at the centre of it all: the small, familiar figure of Harry Childress. Tom didn't even have it in him to be jealous, because it had just been awe-inspiring.

And then, the way Childress had descended upon him at Wool's, a whirlwind of death threats, vicious punches and righteous fury… Tom had actually found himself goading the boy, just to see him continue. He hadn't enjoyed having his face punched in any way, shape or form, but this boy…

God, he was something else.

Before, Tom had wondered what it would take for Harry Childress to submit.

Now, he was faced with the prospect of someone he could maybe grow to respect, and he was feverishly hoping that Childress never did.

He had watched distractedly as Childress and Eric Whitley kept disappearing together all week, thinking themselves inconspicuous. And instead of anger, all he felt was some second-hand embarrassment and the thought: He really needs to have better standards for himself. He knew he should have been wary of this reunion, as it couldn't mean anything great for himself, but Childress's lack of self-preservation must have been contagious, because Tom was actually looking forward to the boy's retaliation.

He had never felt more alive. And no one would interfere anymore.

That was why, when the day after The Revelation (as he was now calling it) he saw Jerry Shepherd and his band of loyal baboons lurking in the showers of the Blue dormitory, no doubt waiting for Childress to show up, Tom decided to intervene. What they had tried to do the previous Saturday had been tasteless, anyway.

He entered the bathroom and opened the shower curtain behind which the thirteen year-old boys were lying in wait. They startled, not having heard him approach.

"Whatever your plan for Childress is, it's over now," he announced calmly.

The boys’ eyes widened in recognition when they landed on him. Tom wasn't keeping only his year-mates in line — he made older kids defer to him too. Jerry and his baboons — not all the same then as now — had tried to harass him before because he was alone.

They had quickly understood their mistake.

Still, Jerry had more ego than brains, and Tom knew he would balk at the idea of obeying a nine year old. Indeed, the teen sneered. "Oh, just because King Tom has decided it, yeah?"

He was nervous. Tom could almost scent it off him, and he smiled, tilting his head to one side. "What did you call me?" he asked quietly.

The other boys had probably stopped breathing. Jerry, for his part, seemed to lose all blood in the face. But still, in a formidable display of 4.3 billions years of wasted evolution, he persevered.

"You think you're the real shit, huh?" he grunted. "Well we're not gonna let ourselves be bossed around by a little—"

Tom spared him the danger of finishing this sentence — he drew on the power that was always tingling under his skin, waiting to be used, and he pushed , accompanying his movement by a sharp tilt of the head. Jerry was sent flying to the side, his skull hitting the paved wall with a satisfying SLAM, to the scared yells of his friends. He slumped on the wet floor, moaning and holding his head.

Tom looked down on him with contempt. What a sad waste of flesh and bones he was. That Tom was supposed to share the same air with the likes of him never stopped astounding him.

"This is a simple warning," he said. "Next time, you'll share Dennis Bishop's hospital room — if you're lucky. So I'll lay it out one more time, in simple terms so you stupid apes can understand."

He turned to leave, throwing them one last glance above his shoulder before proclaiming to the world:

"Childress is mine ."

He hadn't seen the slightest hint of one of their pimples since then, and according to the rumour mill, they had stayed just as clear of Childress. Though not many talked about Jerry's gang these days. The whole Children's Home was actually shaking in fear over the full-on "War" that was about to explode between Tom Riddle and Harry Childress. Nobody knew who would make the first (or rather, the fiftieth) move, but everybody agreed that it would be "epic," and would probably cause many casualties. Even Mrs Cole and the supervisors had picked up on it a little, acting more tense than usual and throwing them both wary glances.

But Tom would let Childress strike back first, and so he was left to wait just as the others.

And wait.

And wait.

He was actually getting a little impatient. Childress did glare his way more than ever, but he didn't approach him once after his attack in the playroom. He actually almost seemed to avoid him, which would have incensed Tom if he hadn't been so sure that he was at the centre of Childress' thoughts right now. Really, being kept waiting shouldn't have surprised him — when had Childress ever done what Tom expected him to? His next move would probably come out of left field, and wasn't that a little exhilarating ?

But, as it turned out, their time was running out. The next move in the game did come out of left field…

…except that it came from Mrs Cole.

Tom had been hanging out more often in the common areas lately, but other than that, he kept to his usual routine. Studying, practising his powers, keeping track of what was going on in Wool's and in school, and visiting his snake Medusa in the yard. One afternoon, a week after the Revelation, he was actually coming back from seeing her, crossing the hall toward the stairs, when he had overheard a stranger's voice coming from Mrs Cole's office. So, naturally, Tom snuck up to investigate.

The door was ajar, and he could spy a grey-haired woman speaking with Mrs Cole. She was dressed in the deceptively relaxed manner Tom had come to associate with shrinks.

"…type of anger issues are very common in abandoned children, as I'm sure you know. If you're adding the stress of his amnesia, this makes for quite an explosive cocktail."

Mrs Cole's face was uncharacteristically distressed. "What bothers me is that it's becoming unmanageable," she said. "He's breaking the facilities' equipment, my supervisors tell me he's been getting withdrawn — and now he even started attacking other children physically."

"Any trigger that could have brought this on?"

"That's the thing. It seems so random. He'll be perfectly nice one moment, and go to smash the bathroom mirror the next, or lunge at Tom Riddle."

"The boy he attacked last week, is that correct?"

"Yes. Tom wasn't even doing anything. Harry saw him sitting in the playroom, and then — hop! He was attacking him like a beast and threatening to kill him. He was convinced that Riddle had pushed his friend under the car, even though we explained to him that it wasn't physically possible — that witnesses had seen Tom at Wool's at the time of the accident. But he was so set on it… even said that he had seen him do it."

"There is no chance that he could be telling the truth?"

"No. Tom was on homework duty with younger children, and the whole group confirmed that he was there. Besides…" Mrs Cole's voice took on an hesitating tone. "Harry and him have had this vendetta going on almost since Harry arrived. And you're going to tell me: it happens. They're children. Yes. But…"

"But?"

Mrs Cole's voice was now more troubled than Tom had ever heard it. "He is so determined to accuse Tom for everything that goes wrong — even when Tom obviously couldn't have done it, like this accident. And the thing is… I'm not a lie detector, Mrs Chapson, I won't have the hubris to think that no child can lie to me successfully. If we're talking about Tom, I actually suspect this one to have pulled the wool over my eyes many times. But Harry… he seems so earnest . If I didn't know what he said was not true, I would be tempted to believe him."

Wariness was rising in Tom. Was he about to be discovered? No, Mrs Cole just said his alibis were rock solid… though if she chose to re-interrogate the children that vouched for him, maybe one would crack.

"What are you saying?" asked the shrink in the soft voice people like her used to entrap you.

"I don't know what I'm saying," answered Mrs Cole. "All I know is this: Harry seems to go from normal to hysteric in a matter of seconds. Each time he breaks something, he says it's Tom, and he seems to believe it. Now Dennis was hit by a car when he was alone with Harry, and Harry comes back saying it's Tom again…"

Understanding dawned on Tom. Oh, this was wicked . Could she really think that…?

The shrink's voice was just as shocked, though she obviously tried to hide it. "You think he pushed his friend under the car in a dissociative fit and then accused Tom because he couldn't cope with what he had done?"

Mrs Cole sighed. "I don't think it. I fear it, and so I don't know what to think."

The grey-haired woman seemed to deliberate. "Let's not jump to conclusions. You told me he saw what happened to his friend — he could have been so traumatised that his mind rushed to paranoia to explain what happened. Senseless tragedy can hit children worse than outright cruelty sometimes."

"But he said that he saw …"

"I will try to get to the truth of the matter when I talk to him, though it may be counterproductive to bring the subject right away. Even if he didn't go as far as pushing his friend under a car, I still find his violent behaviour concerning. It might be a good idea to move him to a facility more equipped to deal with troubled children. In this kind of cases, I often recommend St Brutus's Children's Home, in Surrey. It's a one-hour drive away from London, and they have psychiatrists and psychologists on site. They also have a lot less children to take care of, and a methodology that has proved successful to help children with psychological issues like Harry. Even without the violent behaviour, there is the matter of his amnesia. You said that no head injury was detected when he was found two months ago, so it is not a stretch to infer that the cause might be psychological. If I may be honest, this can mean trauma that you would be in no way equipped to handle."

Tom listened to the speech with dismay and a mounting horror. Surrey ? One-hour drive ? St Brutus ?

Worse, Mrs Cole didn't seem opposed to this outrageous plan. "This might be for the best, for him and the children here. We sadly can't devote enough time to each of our charges, and Harry needs special care. And at least it would separate him from Tom Riddle…"

Don't you dare , you shrew! thought Tom furiously. He was so mad that he was shaking and felt on the verge of releasing his powers accidentally. He's MINE!

"I will try to assess his state of mind during our session, but yes, considering all his issues, I think it's for the best," acquiesced the grey-haired harpy.

"Will you speak to him about it?" asked Mrs Cole.

"Not yet. Though we shouldn't delay this move too much, for his sake. I will put you in contact with St Brutus, if you want."

"Yes, thank you," said Mrs Cole. "I will get someone to bring Harry. Come — I will show you the room I set aside for your session."

They got up from their seats and Tom ran away, dashing up the stairs. He didn't know what face he was making, but it urged the children in the hallway to quickly step aside.

This was unacceptable. Harry was the only one like him, the only person that… They couldn't be allowed to take him away! He had to find Harry — now !

He barged into the Blue dormitory like a madman, making the only boy in the room jump in fright when the door banged against the wall. "Oi! Careful with my doors!" shouted the voice of Percy Holloway from somewhere down the hall.

Tom looked around and, seeing no Harry, he turned toward the only occupant of the room. "Where is he?" he growled.

Billy Stubbs was frozen on his bed, looking at Tom with terror in his saucer-like eyes. He raised his hands as if to protect himself. "W-who?"

Tom finally snapped — how dared this useless fool delay him any further?! His power lashed out and wrapped itself around Stubbs' throat, who spluttered and trashed in breathless panic, hands gripping at invisible bonds.

"You know who!" snarled Tom.

He released his power just enough for Stubbs to get a little air. The boy drew a squeaking breath and hurried to say: "He— he was in the yard!"

Tom stormed out of the dorm and went down the way he had just taken. He needed to warn Harry before the shrink got to him. They would make a plan, they would outsmart these two shrews and Harry would stay. He just needed to find him!

He ran around the yard, looking behind the shed and even going to find Medusa in their clearing.

~ Medusa! ~ he called, out of breath. ~Are you here? I need you!~

It was so hard to speak the snakes' tongue when you were in a hurry. It was naturally slow and relaxed.

The little grass snake finally slithered out from under a bush, flickering her tongue. ~Tom? You're back already? Did you bring another mouse?~

Tom fell on his knees in front of her. ~Medusa, did you see Harry Childress , the boy I showed you the other day? This is very important.~

~The human that smelled scary?~

Tom frowned. ~ What?~

~I think it was the human you always talk about, but I'm not sure. You know you all look the same, without scales to tell you apart. He came into the clearing, made a lot of noise and chased all the bugs away.~

Tom faltered for a moment, his urgency receding behind the news. ~ He was in the clearing? ~ He quickly checked his box, but the padlock was still in place. ~What did he do?~

~I don't know, I hid. You didn't tell me he smelled so scary.~

~What do you mean by that?~ asked Tom, a little impatient.

~He smelled like a predator. A worse predator than a fox or an owl, ~ replied Medusa. ~It was familiar, but I don't remember where I smelled it before.~

Tom blinked. ~Are you sure he didn't just smell human? Humans are predators too.~

~He smelled like a worse predator than humans. A lot worse.~

A tremor of worry went through Tom. What was this new aberration of Childress? Instead of unravelling, the boy's mysteries kept piling up higher and higher. A worse predator than humans… would he actually pose a threat to Tom ? Should he let him go to St Brutus?

Tom shook his head, clearing his mind of this nonsense. He wasn't going to let Medusa influence him. For her, owls were the epitome of evil.

~How long ago did he came here?~

~Just after you left.~

Tom paused. Had Childress been following him? ~And when did he leave?~

~Just before you came back.~

Tom swore. Medusa didn't have a very reliable sense of time, but the sequence of events didn't let much leeway. He had just missed Childress.

He sprung to his feet. "Gotta go!" he exclaimed in the human tongue.

~What was that? ~ asked a confused Medusa behind him. He was already coming out of the bushes and running toward the building.

In the hall, he crashed right into none other than Eric Whalley. The brutish boy would have lost his balance if Tom hadn't grabbed his arm in a merciless hold. "Where is Childress?" he asked right away.

Whalley blinked, startled, and turned his head toward Amy Benson, who had been walking with him. Then, he snapped back to himself and threw a wary look at Tom. He was obviously trying to conceal his animosity, but Whalley wasn't a very subtle boy, and it radiated off of him in waves.

"I haven't seen him," he lied.

Tom didn't have time for this. He clenched his teeth and grabbed Whalley's jaw, forcing him to look his way. "Where. Is. He ?" he repeated, peering intently into the boy's brown eyes.

A flash of Martha, the peach office, and the grey-haired shrink passed through the boy's mind and into Tom's.

Tom felt the sky fall on his head. He was too late.

"I don't know where he is!" exclaimed Whalley, freeing his jaw with a shake of the head.

Tom let him do it, and even let the lie slide. He walked away slowly, already forgetting the two children behind him.

Too late. Childress would mess it all up with the shrink, and be sent away to this faraway place, never to be seen again. Tom would never learn his secrets. He would never do Magic with the only person he had ever met who could do it too.

The boring, dull life of Wool's would take hold of him again and never let go.

He went to sit in the playroom, empty at this hour of chores and homework, and took his head between his hands. For an indeterminate amount of time, he did what could only be called moping .

But Tom was never down for long. Slowly, his determination came back with a vengeance.

No. No, he wouldn't let it happen. He didn't care if he had to get himself admitted to St Brutus too, or if he had to threaten Mrs Cole, but he wouldn't let Childress get away like that. The two of them would make a plan. Surely, the boy didn't want to leave either, right?

Doubt went through Tom for a second, but he quickly dismissed it. It didn't matter what Childress wanted — Tom had already laid claim on him, and that was that.

He was supposed to be helping Year-Ones do their homework (the exact same assignment he had used as an alibi last week, actually) but he spent the whole hour brainstorming ideas to get them both out of this disaster. He was so deep in thought that he almost missed the dark-haired figure passing in front of the playroom's door.

He rushed to his feet, adrenaline spiking. Childress was out!

With long strides, he caught up to the boy and grabbed his wrist in an inescapable grip.

"We need to talk," he announced as Childress turned a startled look toward him. "Come."

He started dragging the other boy toward the hall. The clearing would be safe from prying ears.

But of course, Childress wouldn't have been Childress if he hadn't been annoying. "Hey!" protested the boy, struggling ineffectually behind. "Let go!"

He was still getting dragged, though. He may have been better at sports, but Tom was at least stronger than him. "I wasn't asking you, Childress," said Tom. "But believe me, you'll want to know what I'm about to tell you."

"Then tell me here, you prick! Let… me…g—"

"A hallway is not a good place to talk," said Tom sarcastically. "You can overhear all sorts of things in it."

"Good!" barked Childress. "That way you can't murder me with impunity!"

"Murder you?" Tom scoffed. He gave a sharp jerk of the arm that sent Childress staggering a few steps forward. They were now in the hall and approaching the back door to the yard. "You stupid fool. I'm trying to save you!"

He yelped when Childress kicked him in the shin from behind. His grip on the boy's wrist managed to slip despite the bruising strength he was putting in it, and Childress started running away.

"Oh, no you don't!" growled Tom, launching himself after him.

"I can't get in another fight with you right now!" shouted Harry down the hallway. "Let's reschedule, okay?"

"Childress!"

The boy had the cheek to fully turn around and snark. "Breathe, Tom! I heard it helps with the anger." And then he was breezing away again, turning at the corner.

Damn him! Tom's legs were longer, but Childress was inhumanly fast. They would lose valuable time while his transfer could happen at any moment! He skidded around the corner, seeing Childress already far away.

And suddenly, he realised that he was behaving like a baboon.

He stopped, quickly checking that the hallway was empty. Yes, everyone was probably at dinner on the other side of the ground floor. Then, Tom put his arms forward and shot tendrils of power toward his prey. Magic went way faster than human legs, and it hooked around Harry's legs.

The boy fell with a shout of surprise.

Tom reeled in his power. Childress was dragged back with it, eyes wide and fingers clawing uselessly at the floor.

This was perhaps even more tiring than dragging the boy by force, and Tom soon felt his hold tremble, but he kept going. His powers answered to him , not the other way around!

Still, the focus he had to keep on his Magical grip made him blind to anything else.

Namely, to the boy suddenly appearing down the stairs.

"Wh-what are you doing?" came the frightened voice of Billy Stubbs.

Tom's hold on his power faltered for a second, before strengthening again. Crap . He immobilised Childress down on the floor, not being able to concentrate on two things at once, and he darted a side-glare to the ginger boy.

"Go away, Stubbs," he ordered in a voice that broke no argument.

"Let me go, you freaking maniac!" was yelling Childress, writhing on the floor.

"I'll be back to you in a moment," Tom said to him. He turned to Billy Stubbs, and realised that instead of obeying, the boy was actually inching toward Childress.

"Wh-what are you doing to him?" asked the ginger boy, wringing his hands. "You have to stop."

Tom smirked. "Or what?"

The boy looked about to faint. "I'll... I'll tell a grown-up?"

"Is that a question?" sneered Tom.

Stubbs gulped, darting a look toward Childress.

"Billy, leave us," urged Childress, still struggling against his invisible bonds on his legs. "It's alright."

Stubbs' eyes widened, and actually filled with tears. Childress's words had apparently stirred something in him, but not the right things, seeing as he actually stepped between Tom and Childress, squeaking in an ill-timed fit of boldness: "Harry is nothing like you! He's a good person, so if- if you want to hurt him you'llhavetohurtmefirst!"

Tom stared. And then, he couldn't help it. 

He laughed.

"I don't think that's going to be as big of a problem as you seem to believe."

"Oh, shut up," said Childress in a cold, disgusted voice.

The temperature of the room suddenly seemed to drop. Tom had one second to recognise the thrilling Magical aura... before it smashed him against the wall. He fell with a yell, back and shoulders hurting. His hold on Childress slipped away, and the other boy shot up to his feet.

Tom stood up in turn, gathering his own power. "Are we doing this now?" he asked, delighted despite himself. "This is not the right place nor the right time."

"Look, Riddle," said Childress between gritted teeth, "I don't know what your deal is, but you can't just go around hurting people to make you feel better. It's..."

Tom would never know what "it" was. The booming voice of Mrs Cole suddenly interrupted them.

"What is going on, here?! We're hearing your ruckus from the dining ha…" The woman stopped when she rounded the corner and saw them. A look of pure exasperation washed over her face. "You two again? Oh my god, can't you last a week without going at each other's throats?"

The three boys froze as more people appeared behind Mrs Cole, looking curiously at them. Tom had gathered back his powers as soon as Mrs Cole's voice had sounded, but Childress didn't do the same. The thick, icy aura kept hovering around the hallway, delectable and unbearable at the same time. Could Mrs Cole and the others not feel it?

They didn't seem to, as boggling as that was. Tom could have pitied them.

"Well?" asked Mrs Cole, fists on her hips. "Are either of you going to explain?"

Tom saw Childress open his mouth and beat him to the punch."It's nothing," he said in a smooth voice. "We were just having a conversation. Sorry we were too loud, Mrs Cole."

Mrs Cole narrowed her eyes at him, and then looked toward Childress and Stubbs. The boys shared a glance and then looked at their feet, not saying anything.

"You're really taking me for a complete simpleton, are you?" asked Mrs Cole quietly. "But you know what? I've had enough of your feud. So you'll both go to your rooms without dinner - you too, Billy, I'm disappointed to find you embroiled in this."

Tom was relieved that this would only be a mild inconvenience, when Mrs Cole's voice turned sharper. She levelled a piercing glare toward Tom and Childress specifically. "Both of you? This is over . Starting from tonight, I don't want to see you speak to each other again. I don't want to see you look at each other again, or even be less than two meters away from each other! Is that understood?"

Tom blinked, not believing his ears.

"Yeah," replied Childress after a beat, frowning at Tom in a weird way. "I think it's for the best."

Mrs Cole turned to Tom. "Well?" she insisted.

Feeling helpless rage toward everyone present, Tom clenched his jaw and nodded curtly. No way he was respecting that.

As if she had read his thoughts, Mrs Cole pointed a finger at him. "I'm going to be watching you both! And school will be notified tomorrow, so don't even think to disobey." She waved them off. "Now, go, all of you. You've officially exhausted me. Martha? Please escort them to their rooms."

Martha waved them on, and Childress and Stubbs left without even looking back. Tom, boiling inside, followed them with the required two meters of distance. How could this have gone so wrong? He hadn't even managed to warn Childress. Mrs Cole probably thought herself very clever. There would be no way to enforce this rule eternally, but the supervisors would be on the lookout for the first few days, and that was all she needed to organise Harry's transfer.

Well, Tom would find a way to foil her plan. He would find a way to make Harry stay. He would find a way to put Wool's and everyone inside right back where it belonged: under his boot.

And in the midst of all this, Tom thought furiously, eyes fixed on the small ginger boy's back, he wouldn't forget the disobedient ones. The liars, the shirkers of rules, the little lambs that thought themselves lions. They would pay for putting themselves on his path.

Between him and what was his.

 

Notes:

Tom: "I know what to do! I need to have a civilised conversation with Harry!"
Also Tom: *Drags Harry by the hair while spewing insults*
Tom, sad and misunderstood: "I don't know what went wrong."

Chapter 6: A heart for a heart

Chapter Text

Riddle really wanted to talk with him. 

It was almost funny. He had been lurking all day at two meters of distance, staring at Harry with forceful and somewhat indignant eyes, like it was so unfair that Harry didn't want to talk to him back. But for now, there had been no opportunity for Riddle to approach him. Billy and Amy insisted that Harry always stay close to a supervisor, and the school staff had indeed been notified of Mrs Cole's decision to separate them. Several times, Riddle had been called to order while he was surreptitiously drawing near Harry. 

And Harry had to admit, he was getting curious. 

This stronger-than-usual fixation was probably due to the fact that Harry had outed himself to the boy the previous evening. Which was a real pain. Granted, Harry had been able to use his powers voluntarily for the first time, throwing Riddle against the wall from three meters away. Hurrah! The only problem was, Harry was nowhere near ready to match Riddle's powers. He had wanted to wait a little bit longer for the other boy to discover that he wasn't the only "mutant" in Wool's, but that was now done. Moreover, Harry had tried to use his powers again at night, when everyone was sleeping, but he hadn't been able to reach the mindset he had slipped into so easily earlier. The shoe he had been trying to lift off the floor stayed firmly put all night. 

Harry startled when a paper plane landed on his desk while the English teacher had his back turned. Knowing who it was from, Harry made to open it right away, but Eric, sitting next to him, put a hand on the plane to stop him. 

"Let him stew," whispered the brown-haired boy. "Whatever has his panties in a twist like that, it can only be good for us." 

Harry glanced toward Riddle, who wasn't even pretending to listen to the lesson. His eyes were drilling holes into Harry's face. 

 "Don't you at least want to know?" whispered Harry. 

He had, after all, wanted to speak to Harry before seeing him use his powers. So the twist in his panties couldn't only be that. 

"What he wrote in there will only be lies, or a trick to get you in trouble," answered Eric. "So, no, I don't want to." He took the paper from Harry's hands and crumpled it. He then put it at the edge of their desk, in full view of Riddle who seemed ready to rain lightning on Eric's head.  

"Better to throw it away," said Eric, apparently oblivious. 

Harry nodded reluctantly. 

But, when it was time to pack up their things and go home, he took the balled-up piece of paper and slipped it in his pocket. 

 

 

֍֍֍

 

 

He waited to be almost alone in the Blue dorm to open the message. Eric was still on cooking duty, and only Billy was there, playing with his bunny Nibbles. Harry watched them a little wistfully while he spread the paper open on the bed. 

"I wish I had a pet, too," he said to Billy. The flash of the white owl passed before his eyes once more. It was often the case whenever he looked at Nibbles, who was also white. 

"You could ask Mrs Cole," said Billy, coming nearer with Nibbles in his arms. 

"I doubt she'd say yes," snarked Harry. "She thinks I'm a delinquent. Besides, we're not supposed to have pets anyway." She had only agreed to let Billy keep his because he had it from before, and because he was so good and obedient. 

"We can share Nibbles if you want," offered Billy. "I already share him with Jack and Amy." 

But as always, when the bunny was brought close to Harry he started to thrash in Billy's arms, trying to get away. 

"I don't think he's on board," said Harry, a little sadly. 

Billy stepped away with an apologetic look, putting Nibbles back into his cage. "Don't worry, he'll get used to you," he said. "Rabbits are always scared at the beginning." The ginger boy came back near Harry and looked at the paper on the bed. "What's this?" 

"Riddle's secret love letter," replied Harry. Seeing Billy's wide, horrified eyes, he burst out laughing. "I'm joking! Let's see what he has to say." 

It was pretty laconic, and yet striking. "Childress, meet me at midnight in the clearing," read Harry aloud with dismay, "or you'll get expelled out of Wool's." 

Well, crap. 

Billy seemed to share this opinion. "He'll get you thrown out!" he exclaimed with devastation. "Oh no, Harry! You have to do what he says!" 

Fear seized Harry's heart at seeing those lines — he didn't want to lose the only home he had! But Billy's words had awoken his pride. "I'm not his lapdog," he retorted sharply. 

Billy was wringing his hands. "I didn't say that! But Harry, if he wrote it, then you know he'll do it. At least… see what he wants? And if it's too much, then you can… refuse?" 

He seemed doubtful about Harry's capacity to do so, but for the rest, he had a point. Harry should at least know what this was about. 

"I'm going," he decided. "Don't tell Eric or Amy, alright? They wouldn't approve." 

"But you can't go alone!" cried out Billy, looking as horror-stricken as if Harry had said that he would fight a pack of wolves on his own. 

"Honestly, Billy, I'm not sure they would make a difference. Besides, Riddle can't know they're on my side." 

Well, not that openly at least, because Harry hugely suspected Riddle knew already. His friends weren't very good at hiding — if they even tried anymore. The way Billy had defended him last night was bad enough. Not only did it put him on Riddle's radar, but it had also pushed Eric (who Harry suspected did not want to get one-upped by Billy) to sit with him at school and at meals. Amy was the only one keeping somewhat of a low profile, being careful not to let Riddle see her talking with Harry even if she did it behind his back. 

Case in point, Billy gulped and straightened. "Then I'll go with you," he breathed. 

Harry made a gesture of dismissal. "No." 

"Yes," said Billy in a voice that was, alarmingly, more determined than before. 

Harry looked at him sternly. "I said no ." 

"You CAN'T go alone!" insisted Billy. "And at least if I'm here, I could run warn someone if he starts hurting you." 

"You think you'd be able to run away? You saw what he did to me yesterday." Getting dragged like that had been freaking scary. Harry had felt like a puppet on strings. How powerful was Riddle, exactly? 

Billy seemed to be asking himself the exact same question, if the paleness of his skin was any indication. "I'll hide," he said, voice subdued. "He won't see me." 

Harry shook his head, ready to deny him again, but Billy spoke first, eyes alight with resolve. "Either I go, or I'm warning Mrs Cole and you won't go either!" 

Harry had to admit, he was a little taken aback. Despite yesterday, he hadn't thought Billy could be this fiery. "Billy…"

"No! You saw what he did to Dennis. And you're always talking back to him and making things worse. I know you have powers too, but if you go alone with him in the night, I'm not sure you would come back." There, he outright glared. "So I'm coming, in case something goes wrong. Don't argue." 

Billy was shaking slightly. Harry knew he had nightmares about Riddle — that there wasn't anyone or anything he was more terrified of in the world. Going to meet the boy outside during the night was probably unimaginably scary for him. 

And still, he was ready to do it. 

This was making Harry's chest constrict and admiration well up inside him. "You know what, Billy?" he said softly. "I think you're really becoming brave." 

Billy huffed, looking away. "And you were right. It's damn difficult!" 

 

 

֍֍֍

 

 

It was Billy, proud owner of a wristwatch that glowed in the dark, that came to wake up Harry at five before midnight. 

It was hard to spend three hours in bed without falling asleep, alright? 

To the sound of snoring boys, they made their way in the dark and opened the door silently. They got out on the hallway, illuminated only by the green little emergency exit signs on the walls, and closed the door of the dorm behind them. 

They turned, and stopped. 

Tom Riddle also stopped in the middle of the hallway, a few meters back. 

They stared at each other like statues, each feeling like the mystique of their secret meeting outside had just been a little weakened. 

It was Riddle who moved first, starting to walk again with a little grumpy huff. As he passed Harry, he whispered to him: "Let's go. No need to bring your pet." 

"He's coming or I don't," countered Harry at the same volume, falling in step beside Riddle. Billy caught up to him on his other side. 

Riddle huffed again, though this time it sounded like a sigh. "Why did I know you would say that?" 

Harry had expected him to insist, but the other boy made no more complaint as they quietly went down the stairs and out the hall. The yard was encircled by very high walls and buildings, and no light from the street could touch it. It was therefore very, very dark. Harry hesitated outside the door with Billy, cursing himself for not having thought to find a flashlight, when suddenly a little ball of yellow light appeared before them. 

Harry's first instinct was to believe that, unlike them, Riddle had thought to bring something, but when Billy gasped, he realised that Riddle didn't need to. The little glowing sphere was hovering above his upturned palm, casting his face in an eerie mask of light and shadow. 

Riddle raised a black eyebrow. "You're coming?" he taunted, before turning and making off in the direction of his secret bushes. 

Harry shook his head, trying to shake off his wonder as well. "Show off," he grumbled, following Riddle's beautiful light. 

You will not ask him to teach you how to do that, he thought sternly to himself. No way. 

Billy grabbed his hand when the time came to dive into the bushes, and he didn't let go of it once they got to the clearing. Riddle had removed his metal box, Harry noticed as he turned back toward them. 

Standing in a circle in the silent night, with the yellow orb illuminating their faces and the branches all around them, Harry felt the mystique of the situation return. It felt like Wool's was very far away now. 

Riddle locked eyes with Harry. "Mrs Cole is going to expel you from Wool's," he announced without any sort of formalities. 

"What?" shouted Harry. He let go of Billy's hand, taking the step separating him from Riddle to get right in his face. "I came here like you asked me to!" 

Riddle blinked, but didn't step back. "It wasn't a threat," he said, bemused. "I wanted to warn you yesterday." 

The wind left Harry's sails and he retreated. "What?" 

"I overheard Mrs Cole talking with your psychologist before your session. She was advised to send you to a place for troubled children in Surrey. Name's St Brutus." His nostrils flared. "She agreed. Your transfer will happen soon." 

"No!" whimpered Billy. 

Harry couldn't even do as much. He felt like the ground was falling apart under his feet. Wool's was literally all he knew in this world. The place was his universe, from friends to enemies, to simple walls or beds. It was simply home . The idea of leaving was like dying. 

"I'm afraid yes," said Riddle. "Unless…" 

He let the word hanging, and Harry took the bait without reserve. "Unless what?" he croaked. 

"Unless I help you," said Riddle with a satisfied smirk. "I have been thinking about your problem, and I have a solution." He looked down meaningfully to the glowing sphere above his hand. "A solution only I can offer." 

Harry opened his mouth, about to retort that maybe he could too, irritated that Riddle implied he was the only one with powers… before the irritation was snuffed out by a tiny flare of hope. Had Riddle misconstrued what had happened yesterday? Maybe he still hadn't understood that Harry had powers like him.

His hope was quenched when Riddle's smirk turned mocking. "Unless you learnt overnight how to make your powers obey you?" He looked Harry up and down, his orb of light never wavering. "What I have seen until now was impressive, I'll grant you that, but it wasn't what I would call controlled . And the solution I have in mind requires a great deal of control." 

Harry was speechless for a second. The fact that Riddle had powers was pretty much out in the open. As for Harry, he had proved yesterday that he had them too. They both knew it. 

But still, actually talking about it felt like breaking an unspoken rule. Especially with Billy there, for some reason. 

"Why would you want to help me?" asked Harry instead of addressing it. "You hate me. Why don't you want me gone?" 

The boy shrugged. "I didn't suss out what you're hiding from me yet, did I? I can't very well let you slip away like that." His smile turned as sly and devious as a cat's. "Besides, if I do this, you'll owe me one." 

And wasn't that a horrifying perspective. Still, Harry would have been ready to risk it, if he had trusted Riddle's intentions a little bit. Just a pinch, really, a wee smidgen. But he would have had an easier time trusting the Devil himself. 

And so he could never accept. 

"What's your plan?" he asked Riddle casually. Maybe the boy was bluffing and Harry could do it himself. 

"Let's just say I will change Mrs Cole's mind," said Riddle with smugness. "It will be very difficult, but I think it is the only way, now. I will explain everything, but only after you accept my help." He thrust out his hand. "So. Will we shake on it?" 

Harry looked down at the offered hand. Never had something felt more like a trap. He shared a look with Billy, who shook his head almost imperceptibly, his wide eyes reflecting the light. Comforted, Harry took one more moment to make sure that his decision was sound, and then he was stepping back, shaking his head. 

"No," he said. "I'll take my chances on my own." 

The orb of light popped out of existence, plunging them into darkness and making Billy yelp. When it reappeared, it was dimmer, and Riddle looked like he had just been slapped. " What ?" 

"But thank you," added Harry, already half-turned away. He gestured for his friend. "Billy? Let's go." 

The ginger boy hurried to follow him. However, Harry could only take two steps before Riddle caught his arm in a vicious grip. 

"How stupid are you?" he snarled, his light flickering in a dizzying manner. "You'll get expelled! You'll have to leave everything!" 

The intensity with which Riddle was taking this told Harry that he had made the right choice. He didn't know which bullet he had dodged, but he certainly had dodged it. 

He pried Riddle's fingers off. "Thanks for your concern, Riddle, but I'll be fine. I'll just handle this on my own." 

"On your own ?" The question would have probably been mocking if Riddle hadn't sounded so furious. "You think I'll trust that?  Do you know how to read minds? How to influence thoughts?" 

Harry blinked. "Read minds?" he repeated slowly, a mix of awe and dread mounting inside him. "You can do that?" 

"That's what I thought," said Riddle disdainfully. "You can't. So you'll need me to—" 

"I have everything I need, Riddle," interrupted Harry, glad to hear his voice sound so firm even though he was still reeling from the reading-thoughts thing. 

Riddle glared, and then threw a disgusted look to Billy, for some reason. "Like what?" he asked. "Him, for example?" His mouth twisted in a vicious parody of a smile. "You managed to do even worse than the previous model. Did you know that Billy, here, still wets his bed at least once a month? That he still barely knows how to read? Or that he is one of the few children whose parents left him here voluntarily?" 

Harry felt his mood darken, but it was Billy who spoke up. Well, barely. 

"Shut up," breathed the boy, with tears in his eyes and his whole body shaking. 

Riddle chuckled, not listening. "I guess even for them it was obvious how pathetic he is. But do you know the best part, Harry? They may have thrown him away, but they kept his brother. I think the message is quite clear, isn't it?" 

"SHUT UP!" screamed Billy, making both Harry and Riddle jump. "SHUT UP! SHUT UP! SHUT UP!" 

He took one step toward Riddle and then - Harry wouldn't have believed it if he hadn't seen it with his own eyes - he pushed him. Riddle fell on his ass, and Harry had the time to see his completely stunned expression before the little conjured light went out. They were plunged into complete darkness, but it didn't stop Billy.  He was on a roll. 

"My parents threw me away?" he shrieked. "Your mother killed herself rather than raise you! And she was RIGHT! You're a monster, and nobody wants anything to do with you! Not Harry, not your father, not the supervisors, not ANYONE! All you'll ever have is enemies, and I'd feel sorry for you if you weren't that awful!" 

The rustling of the bushes just after that told them that Billy was leaving. Harry stayed frozen in the dark with Riddle, wondering who had been the most cruel this time. Riddle wasn't bringing back his light, nor was he getting up or making any sort of sound. Harry was half-tempted to ask him if he was alright… but in the end, he shook his head and followed Billy out, leaving Riddle alone in the night. 

He crossed the yard blindly, with his arms out in front of him. He was certain Riddle would come back to himself and attack him from behind, but he reached Wool's building without incident. By the time he got up to the second floor, the bathroom door across the Blue dorm was closing. 

He entered it and heard sniffles from one of the toilet stalls. "Billy?" he said in a pained whisper. 

"Please, Harry, go away," answered Billy through his tears. "I need to be alone." 

Harry hesitated a little, but finally obeyed. He went back to his bed, mind in disarray over all the things that had been said. 

Tomorrow would be such a mess. 

 

 

֍֍֍

 

 

At 8 o'clock sharp, Harry was in the hall to greet Mrs Cole when she arrived. It was Saturday, and nobody had to get up before ten, so he hadn't been able to talk with Billy, who was still sleeping. Harry hadn't seen Riddle up either, for which he was grateful. 

"Harry?" asked Mrs Cole, going toward her office. "Do you need something? We're not going to the hospital until two in the afternoon." 

Harry followed her while she entered her office. "Is it true that you're gonna send me away?"

Mrs Cole froze midway through removing her coat. When she relaxed, she let out an enormous sigh. "The way informations spread in here is supernatural, I'm certain of it." She hung her coat on the back of her chair, looking Harry in the eyes. "This is not how I wanted you to find out, but yes. I've organised things so you can change facilities. Sit down." 

Harry's hope that Riddle had been lying shattered and his throat closed up. "Why?" he whined. 

Mrs Cole's face softened. "This is not a punishment, Harry. This is an opportunity. Here," she said, sitting down and rummaging through the papers littering her desk. She picked up a colourful leaflet that she held out to him. "Look at it."

"I don't want to," mumbled Harry, feeling his eyes water. Nonetheless, he advanced to the desk and took the leaflet, dropping heavily onto the chair.

"I know this is a big change. But you'll adapt in no time, and soon you'll be thanking me for sending you there. I don't like to speak ill of my own parish, but this place?" she nodded toward the leaflet. "Wool's can't hold a candle to it. You'll be in the clean air of the countryside, you'll have a room with only one roommate, you'll have all sorts of hobbies available to you..." 

Harry looked down on the brochure. St Brutus’s Centre for Youth Guidance , it read, above the photo of a nice brick building surrounded by a park and children playing. He opened it and saw beautifully renovated rooms, children painting or playing instruments, and adults with warm smiles. 

The only problem was, some of the adults were also wearing white coats. 

"Is this a mental hospital?" accused Harry, beginning to see why he was targeted. 

"This is not a mental hospital," answered Mrs Cole. "This is a place with psychologists on site so the children can talk about their feelings and sort out their problems. Don't you agree it would be nice?" 

Harry clenched his fists, crumpling the leaflet without meaning to. He glowered at the woman. "If it's for children with 'problems', then you should send Riddle there, not me!" 

She raised an eyebrow. "Oh," she deadpanned. "Does he have amnesia too?" 

Harry was caught short, but only for a moment. "Maybe," he grumbled, looking down. "He does seem to forget a lot of the things he does." 

Mrs Cole frowned, though a smile trembled at the edge of her mouth. "Harry…," she sighed. "I'm serious. It's been almost two and a half months, and your memories haven't come back. What if they could help you get them back at this Centre? Help you in a way we can't here?" 

"I don't want to leave my friends!" 

"You'll also make friends there. And nobody says you can't keep in touch with the children from Wool's." She threw him a piercing stare. "Besides," she added, "don't you want to remember your friends from before, too? The life you had before coming here?" 

Harry's breath hitched. He wanted to be whole again more than anything, and yet… the perspective was as scary as it was thrilling. Like preparing to dive into an abyss where you had no idea what you would find. 

"What if my memories aren't good?" he asked quietly. "I was left to die in the snow," he reminded her.

Mrs Cole made a complicated face. "We don't know what happened, or why the people who brought you here didn't ring the bell. Maybe they couldn't, have you thought of that?" 

He had hoped for that. 

"In any case, it's always better to know," declared Mrs Cole. "You'll see, Harry, you'll like it there." 

Mrs Cole had sold it well, but something still resisted in Harry — something that wasn't even linked to his friends. It wasn't anything detailed, just an instinct, really. But it was telling him in no uncertain… feelings, that his place was here and nowhere else. 

"I don't want to go," he said firmly. 

Mrs Cole tensed. "Well, I'm sorry, Harry, but the matter is already settled. You'll go to St Brutus next week."

"What? No! Please, Mrs Cole, I don't want to—"

"Even if I wanted to keep you, I couldn't anymore," she interrupted gently. "There is a child lining up to take your bed, and I don't have even one to spare. St Brutus has accepted your application and there is a spot there for you." As despair gripped Harry's insides, Mrs Cole stood up and got around her desk to put a hand on his shoulder. "But I would never send you there if I didn't think it was the best place for you. Take a moment to calm down and think about it, and you'll see that it’s not such a horrible idea, after all." 

Harry shook off her hand by getting up, eyes blazing. "No, I won't! I have things to do here! This is where I'm meant to be!" 

The words came from the deepest place of his heart, getting out without any decision on his part. They rang true, even though they confused him as much as they seemed to confuse Mrs Cole. 

"What?" she asked. "You…"

Harry was already stomping out of her office. "I WON'T GO!" he shouted in parting, before slamming the door behind him. 

He went up to the dorm fuming and almost collided with Eric, Jack, and Billy at the door. They were apparently heading down for breakfast. 

"Hey, Harry!" greeted Eric. "You woke up earl…" He stopped when he saw Harry's face. "What's wrong?" 

Harry turned to Billy. "Riddle wasn't lying. Mrs Cole just announced it to me." 

Billy's face fell in devastation. "Oh, no! Harry!" 

"What?" asked Eric, alarmed. "What did she announce?" 

Harry realised he was still holding the crumpled leaflet in his fist. He threw a glance above the boys' shoulders and to their other roommates, who were eyeing them curiously from their beds. 

"Let's talk downstairs," he said, shoving the brochure into Eric's hands. 

By the time they had finished breakfast, Amy had joined them and the group was well and truly worked up. 

"We don't want no stranger in your place!" exclaimed Eric for the tenth time since Harry had told them of the situation."We'll bar the room!" 

"You can make a hunger strike, Harry," said Jack. "It worked for Gandhi." 

"Or…" said Harry with great reluctance, "I could accept Riddle's offer." 

A chorus of protests sounded around the table, drawing several glances. 

"You can't!"

"Harry, this is a trick!" 

"It will lead to something even worse!" 

Only Amy was looking at him with a considering face. "Mrs Cole said you had to leave, right? Someone needs to leave Wool's, because someone is entering Wool's." 

"Yes," said Harry sullenly.

"What if it doesn't have to be you?" 

All heads turned toward the blond girl. She flushed a little and waved the leaflet. "Basically this is a centre for troubled children, right? If we can show Mrs Cole that someone needs to go there more than you…" She turned her head toward a corner of the dining hall, where Riddle's usual table was sitting empty. "Like someone who is bullying everyone and pushed Dennis under a car…" 

Harry scowled. "I'm spending half my life here telling Mrs Cole that Riddle is a psychopath. She refuses to listen to me if there isn't any proof!" 

Amy's eyes shone with excitement. "Yes, I was thinking about that…"

"You have a solution for that, too?" asked Harry, amazed. 

"She has a solution for that, too," exulted Eric, leaning toward her eagerly. "What is it?" 

Amy smiled hesitantly. "Well, Alison — my step-sister — she has a phone. It's not a smartphone, but you can record things with it." She looked at Harry. "You and Riddle are always talking and threatening each other. Maybe… if you can get him to talk about all he's done, and then we let Mrs Cole hear what you recorded…"

Eric grinned. "Then she will have to send Riddle to this mental hospital in your place! Amy, do you know you're actually a genius?" 

"It's not a mental hospital," said Harry by reflex. 

This was… actually not a bad idea. If he could get Riddle to confess to everything he had framed Harry for -- for what he had done to Dennis -- then Mrs Cole would feel that Riddle's case was more urgent than Harry's. Which it was , amnesia or not. But more than that, besides Riddle getting the help he was probably in dire need of, there was the fact that he would be gone . No more being targeted, no more being bullied, no more threat to Harry or his friends… 

Then why did the idea feel so wrong? It felt just as wrong as leaving Wool's. Which didn't make any sense. 

A question once asked by Death came back to him. "Do you need him for your design?" 

Did he? 

"He would leave Wool's?" asked Billy, almost shivering with hope. Since the beginning of breakfast, he was eyeing every person entering the dining hall with fright, cowering on his chair. It was clear in his eyes that he expected to pay dearly for his outburst at Riddle last night. 

This sight alone should have settled things for Harry. Riddle had hurt — was hurting — so many people here. The children of Wool's deserved to be free of his looming shadow. And maybe, even if Harry was still angry at him, Riddle deserved to have a fresh start too. If Mrs Chapson was right, and nobody was truly evil, then with the help of the psychologists of St Brutus he could become a better person… 

Framing things like that did make the idea feel better. But better like getting beaten by boxing gloves instead of by a steel rod. That was to say: still not right

"Harry?" asked Eric excitedly. "What do you think?" 

The thing was: what choice did he have? Someone would go to St Brutus. And he didn't want it to be him. 

"Alright," he sighed. 

 

 

֍֍֍

 

 

After breakfast, the boys went to wait in the playroom while Amy left to convince her step-sister (who was notoriously difficult) to lend them her phone for an hour. 

She had been gone for thirty minutes now, and Harry bit his lip on the couch as the others played babyfoot with older boys. He was cataloguing the peeling grey paint, the broken toys and the children who used it with an anxiety he couldn't repress. What if he failed? Would he never return to this room? Would his meeting with Dennis this afternoon be the last time he saw his friend? 

And what if he succeeded? 

Harry still had no logical reason for why that would be bad, but his heart assured him that it was. 

So, lip biting. Gut churning. Nails chewing. 

When someone finally came running into the playroom, Harry raised his head sharply, thinking it must be Amy. His eyes landed on the panicked face of Billy instead. 

"Guys!" cried the ginger boy. "Nibbles has escaped!" 

Harry got up, a bad feeling getting on top of his previous bad feeling. All the children present immediately stepped up, and a Search & Rescue operation was mounted. (Nibbles was the only animal in Wool's, and as such, he was almost worshipped.) As everyone marched out to scatter in every direction, Harry stayed back, trying to guess where a bunny might run to on his own. 

The rafters , whispered his mind. 

This made no sense. The only rafters in Wool's were in the attic of the East Wing, which belonged to an older building. Nibbles would have to hop up many sets of stairs and run along many hallways to get there, and what for? Bunnies weren't particularly fond of rafters, were they? They couldn't even climb on it… 

He won't climb on it , whispered his mind ominously. 

Why was he afraid? Wool's wasn't dangerous at all, and it was locked. Nibbles would soon be found. 

Feeling like a fool, Harry nonetheless took the direction of the East Wing. On the second floor of the staircase, he bumped into Amy. 

"Harry! You were getting impatient?" 

"No, I… huh…"

She brandished a cheap Nokia phone victoriously. "I got it! But she wants it back in an hour, so you should find Riddle as soon as possible." She frowned pensively. "I never thought I would say these words one day." 

Harry distractedly took the phone she was pushing into his hands. He needed to get to the rafters. Now . "I'll find him," he said to her, starting up the stairs again. 

"You won't find him here," said Amy, confused. "This is the wing for teenagers, and all." 

"I know," he said, leaving her behind. 

As he went up floor after floor, he looked down at the phone in his hand. He had the urge to turn the recorder on. 

He did it and shoved the phone in his pocket just before getting to the attic landing. 

There was movement behind the door. 

He stepped inside without knocking, and was worryingly unsurprised to see Riddle up on a chair, tying rope to one of the rafters. The boy turned quickly, and his startled face darkened when he saw Harry. 

"You." 

"You," said Harry back. 

Billy's bunny was cowering on top of a crate, so still that Harry would have thought he was dead if his dark eyes hadn't been wide open. Harry didn't know what Riddle had done to make it stay put, but the poor animal looked terrified. 

Harry took a step toward it, and Riddle jumped off the chair to block his path. "How did you know I was here?" asked Riddle in a belligerent tone. 

Harry cast a glance up to the rope dangling from the rafter. 

"Were you gonna hang Billy's rabbit on this rafter?" he asked in an empty voice. 

Riddle opened his mouth, closed it. Then, he straightened. "Why are you using the past tense?" he said with a disdainful look. "You think you're going to stop me?"

Harry felt like he should have been shocked. Like he should have said: "Yes, I'll freaking stop you" and jump on Riddle. But it wasn't even the phone recording that stopped him. He was feeling… hollow. Sad, even. 

"Why would you even do that?" he asked with sincerity. 

Riddle's face contorted with fury. " You know why.

Harry looked at Nibbles, honestly lost. "Yeah, I know. But it's just… so petty."

Riddle's laugh was unhinged. "Well, that's me. I'm petty! With what he said ," his features twisted in rage at the word, "he's lucky I don't do it to him instead. But he'll feel worse this way." 

To Harry's alarm, Riddle turned and picked up Nibbles. He started petting him softly, like he cared, and this was perhaps the most disturbing part in all this. That he was capable of being nice to the bunny, all the while plotting his death. 

Comments were floating in Harry's head, distant things like: "This is wrong, Riddle!" and "This is just a rabbit, he didn't do anything to you!" But he knew they wouldn't reach the boy in front of him. 

Honestly, he didn't know what could reach a boy like him. 

"You'll just prove him right, you know," he said in the end. 

Riddle narrowed his eyes. "Who?" he said suspiciously. 

"Billy," said Harry. "You want to punish him because of the things he said last night — about how you were a monster and how nobody wanted to be near you?" One of Riddle's eyelids twitched. Harry continued: "Well, I don't know what you think will come out of hanging his bunny. It will certainly not prove him wrong." 

Riddle faltered for a moment, but then his features hardened. "I don't want to prove him wrong ," he mocked like the idea was ridiculous. "I don't care what he thinks." 

Harry looked him up and down, taking in the whole situation. "Clearly." 

His heart spiked when Riddle circled a hand around Nibles' neck. "I just want him to keep his thoughts to himself," snarled the boy. "Just like your useless, goody-goody thoughts. You lot are so far beneath me, I—" 

"Beneath you? You started it, Riddle! And yet, I don't see Billy going to murder your snake. Who's beneath who, here?"  

Riddle froze, his hand still around Nibbles' neck. 

"I don't have a snake," he breathed. 

Harry rolled his eyes. "Yeah, you don't have a grey pet snake who you talk to and that lives in that clearing. Sure. Just like you didn't push Dennis under a car, or you didn't steal Chris Vogler's fountain pen last week at school. You know, I was talking about it with Mrs Cole this morning: isn't it funny how I'm the one with amnesia, but you're the one who seems awfully confused about himself?" 

Riddle had paled considerably. "You… you don't have amnesia, you liar! And if you do anything to Medusa, I…" 

"Jesus, Riddle! What I'm trying to establish, here, is that you should not hurt people's pets. Or people, for that matter."

Riddle sneered. "Why, because you'll cry after? My, I—"

Harry took one step forward, finally feeling his anger rise but keeping it in check. "You think it makes you strong, to act this way?" he asked forcefully. "You think everyone wouldn't find it much easier to do just like you and lash out at the slightest irritation? It takes control and patience to restrain oneself, but we do it because that's what strong , intelligent people do to make their way in life! Because people can bring you so much if you treat them right, but you're missing out on all that! And you don't even realise it!"

Harry hadn't really expected his diatribe to work, but Riddle took on a speculative expression, like he was actually thinking on it. All the while, he was petting Billy's rabbit. 

"Wouldn't you want people to like you instead of hating you?" continued Harry, pressing his advantage. "To think up ways to please you instead of ways to get rid of you? To have support, to have—"

"I don't need anyone," interrupted Riddle. 

"Even if you don't need them, wouldn't it be better ? You can do almost anything by yourself, but if you have people with you, it becomes faster, easier. Who would you think was the cleverest man: the one whose friends want to help him and who finishes building… I don't know, his house, in a single day, or the man that takes a year to finish it because he 'didn't need anyone'?" 

Riddle wavered. "I would respect the second man," he said. 

"Yeah, but almost out of pity, right? Like 'he sure made a lot of effort'. Not like 'wow, so resourceful, this one!'" 

Riddle glared. "And your point is?" 

Harry sighed, looking down at Nibbles. "The way to stop people from saying bad things about you is not to terrify them — they'll say them in secret instead." He met Riddle's eyes. "It's to make them like you. That way, they won't even want to say bad things. They won't even think them. And they'll be angry at those that do." 

Riddle turned halfway, looking down at the rabbit. He scoffed bitterly. "Normal people don't like us, Harry. Fear is the only way to keep them in line. You'll see when your so-called 'friends' learn what you can do." 

Harry felt a surge of victory. "Oh yeah? Then why were they all for it when I told them?" 

Riddle slowly turned his head toward Harry, face so stunned that it was dull. "You told them?" 

"I told them and they were glad. You want to know why?" 

Riddle narrowed his eyes, nodding minutely.

"Because there was finally someone like you, but who wasn't a complete arse." 

Riddle laughed darkly. "Oh, I bet! Don't you see what they want? They want to use you against me!" 

"Of course they want that! You're terrifying them!" 

"They'll be terrified ANYWAY!" bellowed Riddle at him, making the rabbit twitch in his arms. "You're telling me they aren't scared of you? Resentful?" 

The image of Amy's wary eyes and of Billy running away from him came to his mind, unbidden. He dismissed them, but it must have shown on his face, because Riddle's expression turned vindicated. 

"At first, yeah," confessed Harry. "But—"

"There's no but," said Riddle, incensed. "They're making you think they don't fear you — and maybe right now they don't because they think you can be useful. But they'll change. When they see you doing things no one should be able to. Things they can't do. They'll be scared, and angry that they're scared, and jealous that it's you and not them! You'll see how they repay your kindness, then!" 

Fear that it may be true seeped through Harry's pores, but he could reason against it easily enough. He wouldn't judge his friends before they did anything wrong. Instead, he stared at Riddle. 

"What happened to you?" he heard himself ask softly. 

Riddle scoffed again. "Nothing. Unlike you, I simply didn't have the luxury of blinders." Before Harry could find something to respond, he looked down at the rabbit contemplatively. "You want me to spare the rabbit," he said. 

"Yeah," said Harry with tentative hope. 

Riddle hummed. Then, he raised his head and pinned Harry with a dark, determined gaze. "Alright," he said. "I'll do it if you accept my offer to help." 

Harry guiltily remembered the phone recording all this. He didn't need Riddle's help to avoid St Brutus — he was going to trade their places. 

He couldn't really say that, though. "Why do you even want to help me?" he asked in a groan. "I know you'll want something horrible in exchange." 

Riddle's eyes sparkled with amusement. "Not horrible, no. My condition will even be beneficial to you." 

Harry was getting more wary by the second. "And it is…?" 

Riddle smiled. "That you abandon all your friends and don't make new ones." 

Harry felt like a chasm opened inside him. "That again!" he cried. He hurriedly reminded himself that he wouldn't need to do it, but he still felt wounded that Riddle even demanded it. "Why do you even freaking care if I have friends? What's it to you? It's not your life!" 

"They'll influence you against me." 

Harry laughed with disbelief. "You're doing that on your own!" 

Riddle clenched his teeth. "So you refuse?" He tightened his hand around Nibles' neck again. "I'll just kill it, then." 

"No!" shouted Harry, stepping forward. He stopped when Riddle gave him a warning glance. 

"You have until three to decide. Three…"

"Riddle, stop! Let's talk about this…"

"Two…"

"This is ridiculous!" 

"O—" 

"ALRIGHT!" lied Harry. Riddle freezed, looking at him keenly. "Alright, I accept your condition," he said in a defeated voice. 

And he didn't even have to feign it. Lying to Riddle left a bad taste in his mouth. Riddle's conditions might be wicked, but a contract was a contract, and Harry was going to break it to send Riddle away by treachery. He couldn't help but feel guilty. 

Riddle was positively glowing. He handed Nibbles to Harry. 

"Then everything is well," he said with a grin. "Don't worry, I'll take care of your transfer." 

Harry took the rabbit, relieved but glaring. "Don't look so happy, Riddle," he warned in all seriousness. "You'll get your comeuppance sooner rather than later." 

Riddle moved past him toward the door, waving a hand dismissively. "Threats don't become you, Childress." As he got on the landing, he flashed Harry a wink. "But don't worry — I took everything you said into account." 

Then, he left down the stairs, the sound of his steps echoing around the stairwell. Harry was left alone with Nibbles. 

"That was a close call, right?" he said, petting the bunny between the ears. He frowned when Nibbles cowered even more, trying to avoid his hand while staying frozen. He was trembling. 

He sighed. This would not be the day Nibbles warmed up to him. With extremely mixed feelings, he got the phone out of his pocket and closed the recording. When he was sure he was truly alone, he pressed play and listened to the conversation that had just taken place. 

"Were you gonna hang Billy's rabbit on this rafter?" 

Riddle's haughty responses were damning. 

"Why are you using the past tense? You think you're going to stop me?"

"That's me. I'm petty! With what he said, he's lucky I don't do it to him instead. But he'll feel worse this way." 

And then, Harry accusing him of stealing their schoolmate's pen, of throwing Dennis under the car, and Riddle not denying anything… The part about "what they could do" would need to be cut, but Harry had more than enough material to finally convince Mrs Cole. 

Harry sighed. Riddle was going down.

 

Chapter 7: What we lost

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Harry made his way back, a precious recording hidden in his pocket and a struggling rabbit in his arms. Nibbles had apparently overcome his fear enough to start putting up a fight, and he was squeaking and biting at Harry's fingers with everything he had. They made quite a show, and by the time Harry arrived at the Blue dormitory, Billy had already been warned. The ginger boy rushed inside barely three seconds after Harry, followed by Eric, Amy, and Jack. 

"Nibbles!" exclaimed the ginger boy, sweeping up the bunny into his arms. Nibbles snuggled up against his neck, calming as soon as he left Harry's hold. Harry tried and failed to not feel insulted. 

"Where did you find him?" asked Eric. 

Harry looked at the way Billy was clutching Nibbles, at the relief on his face, and knew that fear would immediately take its place if he admitted that Riddle had taken him. Billy would become paranoid, living in constant terror for the life of his rabbit. Was it worth it? 

Because, the thing was… if Riddle really wanted to get to Billy's rabbit, he would find a way. 

"He was in the East Wing," simply said Harry. 

"My poor little bunny," cooed Billy. "You got lost so far… You must be tired. Here, let's put you back into your cage." 

Eric and Harry exchanged a look, stifling their laughter at Billy's baby-talk. Amy washed all of Harry's amusement away, though. 

"Now, quick, go find Riddle!" she said, making to shoo him out of the room. "We don't have much time left with Alison's phone!" 

Harry resisted her pushing without meeting her eyes, feeling like his stomach had turned to lead. He didn't want to tell them he had the recording. 

He had to, though. 

"I actually met him before finding Nibbles," he mumbled. 

A collective gasp came from his friends. 

"Did you record him confessing?" asked Eric, stepping toward him excitedly. 

Harry briefly saw the eager looks of the other children before looking down at his shoes. "He said enough," he admitted. 

Cries of joy erupted in the room. Amy was actually jumping up and down with a grin, Jack and Billy were laughing wildly, and Eric held out his hand to high-five Harry. Harry complied half-heartedly. 

"That's awesome!" said the taller boy. "Come on, let’s make Mrs Cole hear it!" 

He started dragging Harry toward the door, but Harry planted his feet on the floor. "Wait!" 

All his friends sent him confused looks. "Wait for what?" asked Amy. "I told you, we don't have much time." 

"I…" His brain scrambled for a reason — any reason — to delay. A very legitimate one suddenly came back to him. "We need to cut some part of it. There's some stuff in there that Mrs Cole shouldn't hear." 

He threw a meaningful glance toward Jack to his other friends. The roundish boy was the only one that didn't know about Harry's powers, and Harry would rather that it stayed that way. He didn't know him as well as Eric, Amy or Billy. 

Luckily, they all seemed to catch on quickly. 

"What stuff?" asked Jack. 

"We talked about some pranks I did to Riddle," answered Harry. 

The boy widened his eyes. "You pranked Riddle?" he asked, like it was a feat of legends.

"Harry's like that," said Eric with pride, slapping Harry on the shoulder. "Let's go to the computers, then. I have some credit left." 

They went downstairs to transfer the audio file from the old phone to Harry's school cloud storage. It was actually Jack who explained to Harry how to use the editing tool to cut the end of the file, making it difficult to prevent him from hearing it. Harry managed it by keeping the sound plugged to earphones and not letting anyone snatch one. He batted Eric's hand away when he tried to, saying a stern "Not now" with a heavy look toward Jack. 

Of course, he didn't intend to ever let his friends hear the conversation, as it would have revealed what had really happened to Nibbles. Besides, it was private anyway. 

Harry tried to take his time, but Jack's instructions were quite straightforward. Too soon, he had to sit back in the chair and admit that he was finished. 

"We'll show it to Mrs Cole on her computer," said Eric. "Come on!"

The children were ready to go, but Harry dawdled where he was. "It's better if I go alone," he said. "It will look less like a conspiracy." 

Eric shrugged. "Fine. Then go!" 

Trapped between a rock and a hard place had never felt like a more accurate expression right now. 

In the end, Harry had no more excuses. He left his friends behind and made his way to Mrs Cole's office with slow steps, feeling like he was marching up to his doom. Which was stupid. Riddle going to St Brutus was a good thing for everyone involved. 

He was so caught up in his inner turmoil that he got within one meter of Mrs Cole's office before noticing who was waiting in front of the door. 

Riddle himself. Who was frowning at the door, looking also very concentrated. 

Crap , thought Harry. He stopped, intending to backtrack, but he was already too close to Riddle. The movement drew the other boy's eye and surprise washed over Riddle's face when he saw Harry. Quickly, it turned into a satisfied expression. 

"Come to watch me work?" he asked. "You know what? I was just thinking that maybe, you could be useful. Follow my lead, alright?" he said right before Mrs Cole opened the door. Riddle must have already knocked.

When the Director saw them together, her eyes widened in surprise before narrowing in suspicion. "I thought I told you not to be less than two meters away from each other," she said moodily. "What is going on, now?" 

As Harry felt increasing anxiety from this hitch in the plan, Riddle said smoothly: "Nothing, Mrs Cole. We actually wanted to tell you that we made up with each other. May we come insi—" 

He was interrupted by a shrill, terrified scream from upstairs. They all jumped. It was Martha's voice. 

"A snake! There is a snake!" they heard her shriek. 

By reflex, Harry turned to Riddle, who had gone livid. Mrs Cole pushed them away and marched toward the stairs at once. Riddle broke into a run, passing her to reach the stairs first, and after a moment of hesitation, Harry rushed to follow him. 

There was a small crowd in the hallway of the second floor, and if Harry wasn't mistaken, it was approximately at the level of Riddle's room. Several children were shouting in fear, and Martha was herding the younger ones away. Harry spotted the tall head of Percy in the middle of the fray, who was barking: "Away! Away, all of you! Let me…"

From the gap between people, Harry saw the grey snake of Riddle — Medusa, he had called her earlier — coiled on herself on the floor. She must have been too afraid of the stampede around her to slither away, or maybe she thought playing dead would save her. But Harry's heart froze when he saw Percy raise the shovel he had in his hands, sharp edge down. 

"WAIT!" screamed Riddle, who was running ahead of Harry. His voice was raw in a way Harry had never heard it. He suddenly sounded desperate, afraid — human. 

In the ruckus, his voice was lost. Percy brought down the shovel, hard. 

Its edge sliced right through Medusa, cutting off her head. 

Some of the children screamed, but none screamed as hard as Tom Riddle. 

"NOOOOOOOO!" he howled, staggering to a stop. 

The walls shook as if they had been hit by the sound itself, which wouldn't have surprised Harry. It seemed to go right through him, piercing his very bones with needles of ice. Everyone whirled toward Tom just as Harry reached him. 

Harry's chest twisted when he saw his face. It was so devastated and heartbroken that anyone would have felt sorry seeing it. 

But, as the first tear slid down Riddle's cheek, Harry felt something change. Like the rising of a storm, the atmosphere became saturated with dark, asphyxiating power. Riddle's eyes flickered away from the corpse of his snake and to Percy. The hair on the back of Harry's neck stood up as he saw the boy's gaze go from deep sorrow to pure, black rage. 

The dark aura bubbled up, ready to explode, and then Riddle charged

Knowing in his heart that something terrible was going to happen if Riddle could reach Percy, Harry did the only thing he could think of. He jumped on Riddle from the side, catching him in mid-stride. They both stumbled sideways, going through Riddle's open door. Before the other boy could react, Harry slammed the door closed on the face of the crowd, willing it to please, please stay closed. 

He spun on Riddle, who was staring at the door with what could barely be called eyes anymore, but rather two swirling pits of mad hatred. His dark cloud of power was vibrating all around him, about to strike. In that millisecond, Harry knew that Riddle would maim or kill him to get through. 

And in that millisecond, Harry also knew that he was the only one who could stop him. 

Right as Riddle was tensing his muscles to lunge, Harry tackled him to the floor. They hit it hard, Riddle letting a cry escape. 

He was already struggling to get up, but Harry cradled the other boy in the tightest embrace that had ever been. Harry couldn't decide if it was a restraint or a hug as he trapped Riddle here against him, chanting to him: "It's alright. Calm down, Tom. It's gonna be alright." 

"Let GO of me!" shrieked Riddle, tears in his voice. He was hitting Harry with everything he had: fists, knees, head. "I WILL KILL HIM!" 

Harry endured the pain, only tightening his embrace, laying his head on top of Riddle's and trying to infuse calm in him. "Shh, Tom. It's alright. It's gonna be alright." 

He was so set on containing Riddle physically that he took some time to realise that he was also containing him magically . Riddle's power was storming against the barrier of Harry's own power, the two boys entwined in a bubble where chaos was raging inside but calm was preserved outside. Riddle's power was like a hurricane, but still, Harry held on, held on with a force he had no choice but to have. 

Distantly, voices demanding that they open the door sounded outside. The door had no lock. 

But it stayed closed. 

"Let me go!" shouted Riddle in what sounded like a sob. His face was against Harry's neck. "They… They killed her! They…!"

"I know," said Harry in Riddle's hair. "I know. I'm sorry. It's gonna be alright." 

"No, it's not! It's… I will…!" 

"Shh… I'm sorry, Tom. I'm sorry." 

The storm raged on for long minutes. It grew weaker and weaker until, slowly, Riddle's struggles ceased, replaced by heart wrenching sobs. He gripped Harry's shirt then, like a drowning boy in a sea of grief. Harry cried with him, tears falling on Riddle's hair as he was whispering useless words of comfort. 

In the end, this storm passed, too. Riddle was left laying on the floor, exhausted and empty. Harry slowly unlocked his muscles and got off of Riddle, crouching beside him. The boy was staring up at the ceiling with red-rimmed eyes and wet cheeks. 

"She's dead," he said in a hollow voice. 

Harry said nothing. He had no more pointless words in him. 

Riddle turned his head toward Harry, and Harry felt strange. The boy had never looked at him so… impassively. There was usually one emotion or another simmering under the surface of his cold mask, but here… there really was nothing. 

"It's your fault," declared Riddle. 

Harry felt stung. "What?" he croaked. 

"You threatened her," said Riddle vacantly. "I moved her because of you. But you knew, didn't you? You told me I would get my comeuppance. You did this. You sent them." 

Harry got up on his knees. "No! Of course not. I just comforted you…"

"You like to see me weak." 

"Weak? Riddle, you're not weak because you cried for your pet…"

There, a sliver of emotion got back to Riddle. "Get out," he said sharply. 

Harry hesitated. Riddle seemed unlikely — and, frankly, unable — to blow up anything right now, but Harry was balking at the idea of leaving things in such a state of wrong . "Riddle, I…"

Riddle sat up so abruptly he might have been on springs. "Get. Out!"

Harry got up hurriedly. He put his hand on the door handle and stopped. 

"Let's talk later, okay?" he said to Riddle. 

The boy was still staring at him in an empty, foreboding way. "You win this round," he said, defeated. "But believe me when I say: I will destroy you for what you've done." 

This was quite alarming, and Harry wanted nothing more than to stay and convince Riddle that he had never meant for this to happen, never meant for him to move his snake and get caught. But he was rational enough to see that right now, anything he said would only wake up the storm again. So he lowered his head and left. 

Outside, half of Wool's was waiting. Mrs Cole was at the head of the crowd and snatched Harry's arm as soon as he slipped out of Riddle's room. He still managed to push the door closed behind him. 

"What is the meaning of this?" she roared. "We told you to open the door multiple times! What were you doing in there?" 

Martha reached toward the door, but Harry held out a hand to her, pleading: "Leave him be, please." He looked at Percy. "The snake was his secret pet. He needs time." 

Percy's face coloured in shock, and then regret. Mrs Cole and the rest of the staff seemed at a loss for what to do. 

"Well…," said Mrs Cole in dismay. "This explains some things. Martha, check on him, please, but leave him alone if that's what he wants. I will talk to him later." As Martha slipped inside, Mrs Cole turned to Percy and gestured toward the snake's corpse on the floor. "Clean it up, please," she said in a low voice. "He should not see it again." 

"Maybe I should put it in a box, if he wants to bury it in the yard?" asked Percy. 

Mrs Cole didn't seem convinced. "I don't know that it would do him much good. Better to move on and not wallow in grief." 

"No, it's a good idea," said Harry to Percy. "Show him that it was a mistake, and that you respect his snake." 

If it can stop you from being thrown under a bus, you may at least try. 

In the end, Mrs Cole shrugged and Percy nodded to Harry, picking up Medusa's body in a little bag. Martha came back out of Tom's room and closed the door behind her. 

"Poor thing is heartbroken," she said sadly. She turned to Harry and passed a hand in his hair. "Were you trying to comfort him in there, Harry? That's so nice of you." 

"Hum… yeah," said Harry. 

Mrs Cole was looking at him like she was reorganising his place in her head. "What did you two want to tell me before?" she asked. 

Harry caught sight of his friends at the edge of the crowd. They seemed quite confused, but Eric nodded to him firmly. Do it, he mouthed. 

But actually, this was too much for Harry. He may hate Riddle, but after what had just happened, it was hard to hold on to the feeling. Right now, he was just feeling sorry, and not at all up to betray him. 

"Hum… can we talk about it later?" pleaded Harry. 

Mrs Cole nodded before turning to the rest of the crowd. "Alright. Well, scatter out, everyone! This is not a circus show. I assume you all have places to be." 

As everyone left, Harry went back to his friends. Eric grabbed his arm harshly. 

"Why didn't you say anything to her?" he whispered indignantly. 

Billy, Amy and Jack were also looking at him in bafflement. Feeling ashamed, Harry nonetheless tried to sound confident. "She feels sorry for him right now. It's not the best time." 

"But Harry, you leave next week and it’s already Saturday!" exclaimed Amy. 

"I will tell her after we come back from visiting Dennis," he said to placate her. He instantly regretted it, but he had to commit at some point. It was that, or being shipped off to St Brutus himself. 

"But—" insisted Amy. 

"I will tell her, okay!" he said sharply. Amy recoiled, and Harry immediately felt bad. He smiled at her awkwardly. "Sorry. It’s just… believe me, okay? I know what I'm doing." 

Nothing had ever felt less true in his life. 

 

 

֍֍֍

 

 

Though they clearly disapproved, Harry's friends didn't insist about Mrs Cole. They went to the playroom and then to lunch, waiting for the time to go to the hospital. Harry kept looking out for Riddle, but the boy didn't get out of his room at all. Harry did notice something strange, though. 

After the snake incident, people had soon returned to their usual Saturday activities, but as he was looking around, Harry caught children staring at him quite often. Each time, they hurried to look away as soon as their eyes met. More disturbing, he was now afforded the same wide berth usually given to Tom Riddle -- at some point, a 6 year-old girl even tripped over herself in her haste to give way to him in the hall. 

"What's up with people?" he finally asked at lunch, after Hailey had just refused Amy's offer to sit with them, glancing anxiously toward Harry as she went. 

His friends exchanged knowing and somewhat wary looks. But still, Amy feigned ignorance. "Hmm?" she said. 

Harry glared. "What's going on? Why is everybody treating me like…" Like I'm Riddle , was what he refused to say aloud. 

He didn't understand why they looked so embarrassed to respond. 

...No, not embarrassed, he realised with dismay when he caught Jack looking down to his plate rather than make eye contact with him. 

Nervous. 

"Well?" he insisted, voice a little high. 

Eric winced. "Harry…," he said carefully. "What happened when you were alone in the room with Tom Riddle?" 

"What does that have to do with anything?" 

Amy looked above her shoulder to Hailey, and then back to Harry. She looked almost apologetic. "You dragged a furious Tom Riddle into his room and, after screams were heard from the inside, you were the only one to walk away. You've only been here two months, Harry, I don't think you realise… the magnitude of what you've done." 

Harry frowned. "We've had scenes before." 

Eric scoffed. "Not like that. Harry, you bested him." He threw a side-glance to Jack, before adding: "There's only one way you could have done it, and I think everybody caught up to it, by now." 

"Caught up to what?" asked Harry, fearing that he already knew. 

Jack met his eyes shyly. "You can do weird things too, can't you? Like him." 

Well, there went the secret. Harry looked around the dining room, where several people hastily glanced away from him, whispering between themselves. Jack was acting like he didn't know if Harry was friend or foe anymore, and even Eric, Amy and Billy seemed somewhat more cautious now. 

Harry's heart sank as Riddle's warning from earlier came back to him, engraved in his memory. They're making you think they don't fear you — and maybe right now they don't because they think you can be useful. But they'll change. When they see you doing things no one should be able to. Things they can't do. They'll be scared, and angry that they're scared, and jealous that it's you and not them!

"Not like Riddle,'' Billy suddenly spoke up. "Harry's a good one. He’s a superhero, not a supervillain." 

"Yes," agreed Amy, nodding emphatically to Jack. 

"He does crazy things sometimes, but don't be fooled," added Eric. "He's totally mushy inside." 

Harry's throat closed up. He elbowed Eric in the ribs in mock retaliation, but shared a grin with him a second later. 

Jack scrutinised him for a moment. Then, some switch seemed to turn on in his head and he leaned forward, smiling excitedly. "You really have superpowers, then? That's so cool! Can you show me later? What are they, exactly? Can you fly? Can you shoot fireballs? Are other superheroes real, too? Oh! Are you here on a secret mission to take down Riddle? Is your amnesia a cover story?" 

Jack kept firing questions, and Harry answered them the best he could — that was to say, not very well. Still, he played along with good cheer, unbelievably relieved to not have scared his friends away.

There was only one of them now who wasn't aware of Harry's abilities, and when 2 p.m. came around, Martha gathered the small group of five that was allowed to visit him at the hospital. Fittingly, Dennis's closest friends were also Harry's, and they had been the ones who had been chosen to go. Harry had the firm intention to not leave Dennis in the dark, and with Eric, Billy, Jack, and Amy with him, he would only have to worry about Martha. 

"Don't worry," whispered Amy to him as they rode the bus to the hospital. "We'll find a way to make her leave Dennis's room for a while." 

Without needing to voice it, the children had come to the mutual understanding that it was better to keep the adults ignorant of Harry's powers. Adults were an unknown variable, and often known to complicate things. 

When they arrived at the hospital, Harry felt weird to return to the place he had first woken up. It  was only two and a half months ago, and yet it felt like a lifetime. Which, Harry realised while the elevator went up to the Paediatric Department, it actually was. After all, these two months comprised the whole of Harry's memories. 

"Do not ask him about his legs," repeated Martha for the umpteenth time as a nurse guided them along a hallway to Dennis's room. "He will have a lot of bandages and plasters, but remember not to make him feel bad about it. Don't touch him where it hurts and don't be too loud. We'll only stay a short while because he is still very tired." 

Harry was full of nervous energy as they knocked on the door, and his heart leaped in his throat when he heard Dennis say: "Come in!"

He was the first to go in behind Martha, and despite all of her warnings, he was still shocked by what he saw. 

Dennis looked… well, like he had been driven over by a car two weeks prior. He seemed very small in the huge hospital bed and was swallowed under the two casts on his legs and the one on his right arm. None of his hair was visible under the thick white bandages surrounding his skull, and he was trapped from the shoulders up in a metallic structure that stopped him from moving his head. 

It was painful to see, and yet Harry couldn't help but smile when he met Dennis's blue eyes. His bruised face was still recognisable under all the bandages, making Harry's heart shiver in joy. 

He's alive. He really is alive. 

"Dennis!" exclaimed Billy behind him. He ran past Harry and threw himself on Dennis' left side to hug him. It was on his uninjured arm, but Dennis still let out a "Ow!" 

"For Heaven's sake, Billy, what did I just say?" admonished Martha. 

Billy stepped back, sheepish. "Oh, Dennis, I'm sorry! It's just… I'm so happy to see you." 

Dennis looked at him blankly for three seconds, and then he cracked a thin smile. "I'm happy to see you too, Billy. It's lonely in here all day." 

He looked right at Harry, smile dropping, and Harry felt transfixed. 

"Oh, come on, Mister," joked Martha. "I'm coming here everyday. Is my company so boring?" 

Dennis didn't seem to hear her, still looking right at Harry, so Harry approached hesitantly, followed by Amy, Eric, and Jack. Harry very gently patted Dennis' left shoulder. 

"It's good to see you," he said in a thicker voice than usual.

Dennis just kept looking at him, no expression on his face, until Eric said from the end of the bed, "Jeez, you really look awful." 

"Eric!" exclaimed Martha in a scandalised voice. 

"I don't mind," said Dennis, finally looking away from Harry. "If he said I looked good, I would worry for his sanity." 

Harry laughed at the joke with the others, but noticed that Dennis didn't. Maybe it hadn't been a joke.

Amy was already opening her backpack and spilling its contents on the rolling table. "We brought you so many things! There's candy from the people who couldn't come, this from Harry (she pointed to the rolled up drawing of pirates he had made, and Billy unrolled it to show it to Dennis), this from Jack (she showed a comic book), this from Billy (another drawing, this time of all of them as stick figures), this from Eric (a bowl pottery from the art class at school), and this from me!" 

She opened the tupperware she had brought and took out the flower crown she had made with wild flowers from the yard. She plopped it unceremoniously on Dennis' head, and Eric laughed. 

"There, you look much better!" 

A little awkwardness filled the room when Dennis didn't react, neither in amusement nor irritation. After a little silence, Amy pushed a stack of envelopes toward Dennis. 

"People from school also wrote you letters. Oh! And Olivia wrote you a poem, too!" 

This made Dennis perk up a little. 

"Olivia?" they all asked at the same time. 

Olivia Bell was a very pretty girl in their class. Harry had never spoken to her, because she was one of the "children with families," but also because every time he looked at her big blue eyes and long, shiny dark hair, his throat closed up. From what he had seen, it was the case for Eric, Billy and Jack too, though Dennis -- always friendly with everyone -- sometimes talked with her without ever seeming embarrassed. 

"Yeah, Olivia," said Amy with a mischievous smile. "Want to hear what she wrote?" 

"Yes!" they all exclaimed, except Dennis. 

Amy unfolded a blue paper and cleared her throat, under the avid gaze of the boys and the amused one of Martha. 

 

"I wished on a star

for a friend like you 

who’d laugh and smile

at whatever I do 

When I am upset

I come for advice 

You teach me new stuff 

Almost all the time 

I never thought you'd be here

In a hospital bed 

But bad things are in the past

So get over that fast 

Because after darkness 

always comes the light. 

Get well soon, your friend Olivia." 

 

Amy closed the paper with a satisfied smile. 

"My, that's adorable!" said Martha. "I didn't know she wrote that!" 

"She likes you!" Billy accused Dennis in a somewhat indignant voice. "How did you do that?" 

Dennis blinked. "I didn't do anything." 

"I know how he did it," said Eric in a snarky tone. "He got into a car crash." 

"Or he just talked to her, you dumbass," said Amy, frowning. 

"Amy, language," rebuked Martha. 

The others continued to talk about Dennis and Olivia's future romance, except Harry, who watched his friend. Dennis was really subdued, not participating at all. Normally, receiving such a poem would have turned his face red as a tomato, but he actually looked… far away. Almost like he was waiting for them to be gone, even though he had said that it was so lonely in here. Was he really this tired? 

Eric ended up noticing too. "You don't even look happy! What's wrong with you?" 

Dennis turned a cold gaze toward him, unable to turn his face in his metal structure. "Maybe the fact that she won't like me anymore once she learns that I'm a cripple?" 

Harry felt like ice water was spilled on his back. From the shocked gasps that erupted around the room, he wasn't the only one. There had been rumours about this in Wool's, and one supervisor had confirmed that it was a possibility , but to have it confirmed… 

"Oh, fuck! No!" exclaimed Eric. 

"What do you mean, you're a cripple?" whined Billy. "So you really can't walk anymore?" 

Martha stepped forward, hands up in a soothing gesture. "Calm down, everyone. Eric, I already told you that I didn't want to hear that word. Dennis, you know this is not true. You might still walk again with enough physical therapy." 

"But I might not," Dennis answered flatly. 

"What's wrong with your legs, exactly?" asked Jack. Martha closed her eyes like she was in pain. 

"I can't move them anymore," said Dennis. He looked at Harry. "I can't feel them anymore." 

Harry felt gutted. What had Death said, when Dennis was dying? That his body might be too broken for his Soul? 

"But… but your doctor said it might get better, right?" pressed Harry, desperate. "Maybe it's not for forever." 

Dennis stared at him, unblinking. "The doctors also said that you might regain your memories." 

"I- I did regain some of them!" countered Harry. 

Dennis smiled without any warmth. "Lucky you." 

"Oh, Dennis, don't be like that!" moaned Amy. "I know it will get better. I just know it." 

"Yeah, mate," said Eric earnestly. " Might means it's not sure, but it doesn't mean impossible either." 

"Mmm-hmm," agreed Dennis evasively, clearly just to close the subject. 

They talked a little bit more after that, but the conversation was strained and full of false cheer. After about five minutes, Amy looked Harry in the eyes with determination. He knew what she intended and shook his head — after the news of Dennis maybe being disabled, now wasn't the time for telling him that Harry had superpowers. But Amy was already getting up. 

"Martha? Can I go to the loo?" 

Martha got up. "Of course. I'll take you. Boys, I expect you to behave ." 

Eric, Billy, and Jack nodded fervently, and Amy and Martha left. Eric hurried to close the door behind them and turned toward Dennis with an excited smile. 

"Now, we have something that will cheer you up!" 

Dennis looked mildly curious, but Harry felt like he was pretending to make them happy. "Oh?" he said. "What?" 

Jack tapped Harry in the back. "Tell him!" 

"I…," hesitated Harry,  meeting the dead eyes of Dennis. "Guys, maybe now isn't the best time…"

"Oh, come on!" growled Eric. "It's never the best time, with you!"

"Harry has superpowers!" blurted out Billy. 

A deep, deep silence filled the room, like cotton had been stuffed in all their ears. Dennis looked at Harry, and his face didn't change. 

"Oh," he said after a while. 

And that was that. 

Harry felt his heart break, and the worst was, he wasn't even sure why. 

"Oh?" repeated Eric. "Dude, are you serious? He's a mutant! A real life one! He even beat Riddle's powers, and the pipe — did you remember the pipe exploding? Well, it was him, too! He can even push people without touching them!" 

Long seconds passed. "That's… impressive," finally said Dennis. He closed his eyes. "Sorry, guys, but I'm very tired. Could you let me sleep, now? We'll see each other another time." 

Shocked though they were, the boys could do nothing but comply. They put their coats back on slowly and got out one by one, saying quiet goodbyes to Dennis. Harry was the last one. 

"Dennis—" he started, going near the bed. 

"Bye, Harry," interrupted Dennis without opening his eyes. 

Harry nodded and walked away briskly, trying to swallow the big lump lodged in his throat. 

Outside, the boys had gathered in a corner while waiting for Amy and Martha to return. 

"He was so… weird," said Billy in a sad voice. 

"He knocked his head, right?" said Eric. "You think he understood us?" 

"He understood," Harry managed to get out. "He just didn't care." 

Whatever face he was making right now, it caused the others to look at him in pity. 

"Oh, Harry, he was not himself," said Billy. 

"I think he was too troubled to really listen," said Jack. 

"Yeah," said Eric. "And can you blame him? The poor bloke…" 

The girls returned soon after, and Martha was unsurprised to hear that Dennis had thrown them out. "He often makes me leave before my hour is up, too," she said in a sorry voice. "I told you we wouldn't stay long." 

After Amy and Martha went back in to say goodbye and take their things, they all returned to Wool's. Martha tried to cheer them up, but nobody was in a chatting mood. Harry barely noticed the journey, so focused he was on the effort of not crying. He needed time alone — soon — or he would crumple. 

When they got back to the Children's Home, the others headed right for the stairs but Harry stayed discreetly behind. Almost vibrating with tension, he lingered in the hall near the door until a group of fifteen year-olds got out. He hid amongst them to pass the door, unseen by the supervisor at the desk. 

He marched off in a direction at random, letting the cool air of March whip his face and the sounds of traffic fill his ears. He just needed time to himself, that was all. Wool's may have been home, but it was full to the brim and there was never one corner unoccupied. 

He walked for a long time, until he started recognising the neighbourhood and realised where his feet had subconsciously taken him. 

In front of him were the green hills of Hampstead Heath, where Dennis and he had spent their last happy moments. Eyes stinging, he crossed the street and got in, taking the meandering path that led to their hill. After climbing the steep slope, he let himself fall on the grass right where they had sat two weeks prior. 

This was where Dennis had offered him half his chocolate bar, and where he had opened up about his mother and sister. This Dennis seemed so far away, now. 

Harry hiccuped a sob and took his face into his hands. He had saved Dennis' life, but it didn't feel like that at all, now. He had acted so lifeless, and as Eric said: who could have blamed him? His legs… 

Nobody deserved this less than Dennis. Had Harry been right to bring him back? He had forced it, and Death had said that Dennis might not be happy, but Harry never would have thought… 

Would Dennis actually rather be dead? 

All of this pain… All of this suffering… And just because of one boy. One particular boy that… 

Harry almost jumped three feet when said boy's voice sounded from behind him. 

"I should have never saved you that night," growled Riddle, low and vicious. 

Harry whirled around on his knees, almost falling down the hill. Riddle was standing above him, face distorted by rage and a rock in his hand. 

"If I had left you to die in the snow like the worthless dog you are, Medusa would still be alive," snarled the boy. An ugly smile twisted his lips, and he raised his rock. "But thankfully, I can always correct my mistake!" 

And he brought down the rock on Harry's head.

 

Notes:

I hope you all got a hot cocoa and a plaid to go with this very happy chapter! But this is the second to last one before the end of the first arc! We're getting close to the good stuff!

PS: Sorry about the cliffhanger. I swear it couldn't be helped.
And also, I'm sadistic.

Chapter 8: The true nature of the universe

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

"I should have never saved you that night," growled Riddle, low and vicious. "If I had left you to die in the snow like the worthless dog you are, Medusa would still be alive," he snarled. An ugly smile twisted his lips, and he raised his rock. "But thankfully, I can always correct my mistake!"

He brought down the rock, aiming for Harry's head, and in reflexes Harry hadn't known he had, he rolled sideways to avoid it. He almost hurtled down the slope but caught himself on some grass roots and jumped to his feet. 

He should have been afraid but he realised that, seeing Riddle's face, he was anything but. 

It was him that had crippled Dennis. 

" I'm a worthless dog?" he spat, clenching his fists. "Do you even know what you’ve DONE?!"

Riddle seemed genuinely outraged. " Me?! You killed Medusa!" 

"YOU KILLED DENNIS! And I didn't touch your stupid snake, you bastard!" 

"SHE WASN'T STUPID!" 

In a second, they were on each other. Riddle swung his rock and Harry stooped low to avoid it, catching Riddle in the midriff and bringing him down. He caught Riddle's wrist before the other could hit again, but Riddle just headbutted him instead. 

Black stars exploded in Harry's vision with an intense pain around his forehead. He tried to roll away, but Riddle caught his leg and dragged him back. Through blurry eyes, Harry saw him raise his rock again. 

Harry kicked him in the stomach with his other leg, making Riddle bend in two with a loud "humpf!". The rock fell to the grass and Harry quickly grabbed it, throwing it away. He wouldn't stoop so low as to use it, but his rage and his pain wouldn't be satisfied with just defence. He got up to his knees and punched

Before his fist could connect, though, the dark force of Riddle's power surged forward and propelled him backwards. Harry landed painfully on the earth and was pinned down by invisible restraints. Riddle staggered to his feet and approached Harry, eyes full of a terrible, dark bitterness. "Admit that you did it," he spat. "Admit that you sent them to kill her!" 

"I didn't, you crazy son of a bitch! You're the one killing animals, not me!" 

Riddle towered over his restrained form. "Stop lying !" he shrieked, unhinged. "You said I'd get my comeuppance!"

"YOUR COMEUPPANCE WAS THE RECORDING, YOU DUMB FOOL!" 

Riddle's mask of rage cracked for a second, letting doubt come through. "What recor—" 

Harry had steadily been gathering his own power. At that moment, he pushed it all out and sent Riddle flying backwards. The boy literally flew for several meters before landing on the grass, and then rolling down the hill. The force keeping Harry down disappeared and he shot to his feet, his whole body singing with adrenaline. Dennis's empty gaze was floating in front of his eyes. 

He clenched his fists, eager to strike. "But I guess I can add something else," he growled, charging down the slope. 

Riddle had landed in a bush, next to a playground with a swing, a sandbox, and the pirate boat he and Dennis had played in.  A child had actually been in it and was now hurrying to get back to his alarmed mother. Next to thick bushes, an old gardener let his shears fall to the ground. 

"Boys?" he yelled as Harry dashed toward Riddle. "What are you…?" 

A dishevelled Riddle got to his knees. Seeing Harry charge him, he made a sweeping motion of the arm and a wave of sand elevated from the sandbox and came hurtling toward Harry. The woman and her child shrieked in fear while Harry dove and closed his eyes. He was pelted with thousands of mini projectiles for a second, and when he raised his head again, Riddle was standing above him, holding a branch defensively but not attacking. 

"What did you mean by—" started the boy. 

Harry jumped on him, uncaring when the wooden branch landed painfully on his shoulder. Both boys hit the ground hard, Harry on top of Riddle, who raised his arms to block Harry's punches. 

"Childress, wait! You—!" 

Harry kept punching blindly. "Wait?! Dennis can't walk anymore, AND YOU DON'T CARE! I HATE YOU, I HATE YOU, I'M GONNA KILL—" 

From some weird twist of the hips, Riddle managed to unseat him and throw him to the ground. He tried to mount on top of Harry, but Harry rose to meet him, and soon, they were rolling in the grass, grasping and kicking furiously at each other, tearing hair and scratching skin. 

"Children, stop it!" shouted the old gardener who was hurrying toward them. "You have to…!" 

His next words died in the face of what happened next. 

In the heat of the fight, they were grabbing at everything — arms, legs, necks, and even an ear, one time. Until Riddle's hand, in what was almost definitely an accident, closed on the string around Harry's neck. 

The necklace Harry had never taken off, not even in the shower, snapped. The metal pendant was sent hurtling and landed in the grass a few meters away. 

The second his necklace left him, Harry was drenched in a sheer sensation of vulnerability. A sentence blinked in his mind, the tail-end of something Death must have said at some point: 

"…but above all: you should never take it off." 

The next second, a slashing sound cut through the air. It reminded of the sound of ripping fabric, but it was so instinctively wrong that all the people present froze, hair rising at the backs of their necks. The atmosphere changed, seeming to darken even though the sun was still shining in the sky. 

Harry and Tom both turned toward the sound — toward the place in mid-air where a gash had suddenly opened over the landscape, emitting a bright, unnatural green light. It was like reality had only been a painting and that someone had just sliced through it from behind. 

The boys stayed paralysed in dumb horror at the things that got out. 

They were an aberration. The eye refused to see them properly, making them fuzzy and see-through, like they were somehow there and not there at the same time. As the green hole was pouring ice cold air on the park, the tall things slithered out with dozens of probing tentacles, distorting the universe around them as they came. The lines of the hills and trees behind them bent when the dark creatures passed in front of them, returning to normal as soon as they were gone. It was like they had a magnetic field tilting reality, and for a second, Harry literally couldn't believe what he was seeing.  

Then he felt the invisible gaze of the creature stop on him, and he had to believe really fast. 

" Infringer ," resonated a voice in his head. It wasn't really a voice, and it wasn't really words, but it spoke anyway. "You don't belong here." 

The fuzzy creatures moved toward them — toward him — and the boys were finally shocked out of their stupor. They crawled away hurriedly, screaming like everyone else. The grass was… changing where the creatures touched it, distorting but also becoming a translucent kind of grey. Unlike the distortion, it didn't change back to normal after the things had passed. 

My pendant! thought Harry with panic. Where is it? He looked around wildly, knowing somehow that he needed to get it back. 

A hand suddenly grabbed his collar and hauled him to his feet. "Come here, boys!" shouted the old man behind them, helping Riddle up a second later. "Run!" 

They were herded away by the man… who then ran right into a black tentacle. 

Some of the things had already circled around them, big and slow, but as steadfast as lava. Harry and Tom stopped with a frightened cry. Harry had wondered if the tentacles would be corporeal, considering their fuzzy, ghostly aspect. He had his answer when the man, who had been quick enough to put a protective hand in front of him, found himself braced against one of them. 

He let out the softest "Oh!" and his hand turned into the same translucent grey as the grass, showing veiny flesh and bones. It immediately slumped at the end of his wrist, useless. 

Harry grabbed Tom's arm and made them step back. He tried to grab the back of the man's vest to take him with them, but another tentacle, aiming for Harry, brushed against the man's cheek. 

He fell down like a puppet with cut strings, half of his face grey and showing dark bone. 

"Shit!" screamed Harry, stumbling backwards to escape the tentacle. 

"What are they?!" shrieked Riddle. "What do they want?!" 

"Come here, Infringer!" the voice sounded in his head again. It was hard to tell, but Harry was feeling an aura of anger from it. "You don't belong here!" 

Harry thought it was pretty obvious what they wanted: him . Did Riddle not hear the voice? 

Riddle's shoulder started to distort, and Harry dragged the boy away just a second before a tentacle would have touched him. "Careful!" The boys grabbed at each other and ran, avoiding or jumping above the tentacles slithering everywhere. They stopped in the middle of the playground, seeing with horror that they were surrounded. 

Harry pushed Riddle toward the play boat. The fact that he had been wishing Riddle's death just a moment ago was irrelevant now that there was a real threat. No one deserved the fate of the old man; they both needed to get away. 

"Climb!" he exclaimed.

 

֍֍֍

 

"Climb!" exclaimed Childress. 

Tom hurried to comply, putting distance between him and these… reality warping atrocities. Tom's mind was churning as he got up in the little cabin, which was at least closed off enough that they would be a little protected. The portal these creatures came from glowed in the exact green light that had flashed the night of Childress' arrival, and it had been heralded by the exact same tearing sound. Was Tom about to get killed for the answers he had been looking for? 

As he turned to help Childress up (a strange instinct, really — the boy was still his enemy), he saw with dismay that the latter wasn't following him inside. He was now running in the other direction. 

"What are you doing?!" shouted Tom. 

His heart skipped a beat as Childress avoided the reaching tentacles of one of the octopus-like things by a hair's breadth. All the black, fuzzy creatures seemed to be converging toward him. 

"My pendant!" screamed back Childress, jumping above the crawling tentacles of another beast. "Do you see it?!" 

It took two seconds for Tom to process the nonsensical question. And then, he remembered the way his fingers had caught on Childress' weird necklace earlier, how they had ripped it off him just before… 

Oh. No way! 

Tom stood up and got out on the little bow of the play boat. His hands gripped the railing hard as he peered over the grass, forcing himself not to follow Childress' dangerous dance amongst the creatures. Concentrating on a necklace while alien creatures crawled out of a portal seemed bogglingly absurd, but Tom was a staunch supporter of facing reality. So if finding this necklace was what this new reality demanded, then he would bloody well find it. 

They had been fighting next to the portal over there , and Tom had had his back turned to this tree… so he must have sent the necklace flying… not far from where he was now, actually… 

The grass was starting to be criss-crossed by a hundred grey lines where the creatures had slid, making it difficult to see something metallic. But a glint finally caught his eye, almost unnoticeable against the grey. It must have been less than three meters away from the play boat. "Here!" he shouted to Childress. "It's next to the slide!" 

Childress whipped his head around and his eyes zeroed-in on the necklace, even though he probably couldn't see it well through all the warping beasts. The good thing was, the area was pretty deserted by the atrocities. The bad news was, Childress' path to it was blocked by a multitude of them. 

The boy immediately set to get around them. His complicated dance to avoid the beasts had Tom on edge, flinching every time Childress recoiled particularly hard to escape a random tentacle. He felt like his heart was constricted in a cage. Sure, Childress was the quickest of their class, and he was actually doing quite well. Tom even saw him do moves he had seen him use during handball practice, feinting this way and that, drawing some beasts near and then slipping away, making both of them crash against each other… But he was so close to the things that his outline was always almost completely warped, making it impossible to properly see what was going on — only guess. Guess that he was completely surrounded. 

He will never make it, realised Tom. 

Why this realisation suddenly stopped him from breathing, Tom didn't know. This boy had killed Medusa… 

Oh, stop kidding yourself , came the cold and annoyed voice of reason he had been ignoring all day. You know he hasn't. 

Tom's heart twinged. The dangerous feelings he had been pushing away with rage since this morning seized this moment of weakness and pounced. He remembered how good it had felt to be held like that, safely, unwaveringly. And not just by anyone, but by Childress himself. The whispered, undeserved words of kindness that had seeped through his hurt like fresh water on a fire. The feeling, for the first time in his life, of not being alone anymore. 

Of having a fr— 

No! Tom pushed back hurriedly, almost desperately. His heart was beating wildly, and he didn't know anymore if it was for the situation, for Childress or for what he had let himself feel. No, he… he… (quick, reasons!) … Even if he didn't kill Medusa on purpose, it's his fault she died. If he hadn't threatened you, you would have never moved her! 

It wasn't enough. Tom still felt himself wavering. 

His power defeated yours, he reasoned. He has been acting against you from day one. He is a threat. 

Harry barely avoided a tentacle that was coming at him from behind, and Tom gripped the railing tight to stop himself from crying out. From running out there and helping. He's yours, didn't you say? urged a dangerous voice. You already lost Medusa, you can't afford to lose any more. You need to keep what's yours, to protect it, to… 

Except that it had been a mistake to consider Childress his. It had been made exceedingly clear this morning. It had been fine when the boy had been a mystery, a pet he had intended to keep to distract himself and do magic with, but Tom had never been supposed to be moved personally . He wasn't supposed to let himself be vulnerable. Harry's warmth was like a cancer. It had only gotten past Tom once, and already, it was changing him, growing inside him. 

For the first time since the embrace of this morning, Tom stopped and allowed himself to face the real reason his instincts were pushing him to destroy Childress. 

He makes you weak. 

The things he had made Tom feel earlier… the things he made Tom crave since even before that, if he was honest with himself… if Tom yielded to them, it would make him ordinary. And worse: dumb. Already, he had to restrain himself from acting against his own self interests. Rushing in to help Childress? It would put his own life in danger! How could a notion like that even have entered his mind? A pet or a mystery weren't worth this. 

Childress had to disappear. And the very fact that this seemed unbearable was the reason it needed to happen. 

Tom couldn't be bound by anything or anyone. 

Suddenly, the boy on the playground let out a blood-curdling scream. Ice-cold fear flooded Tom as a tentacle wrapped around Harry's ankle and the boy fell heavily to the ground. 

Tom was already out and down the slide before any conscious decision could form in his mind. He jumped off before even reaching the end and ran, but the horrible blurry beasts were all around Harry already, wrapping their tentacles around his legs and dragging him toward the portal. Harry was still screaming, obviously in horrible pain but still grabbing at the grass to try and escape. Tom's first reflex was to dash toward him, but he suddenly faltered, remembering what he had just vowed. 

And in that split second, Tom understood that it didn't matter. 

It didn't matter what he had vowed. It didn't matter if Harry was dangerous or not, if he made Tom weak or strong, clever or dumb, ordinary or extraordinary. Not because of stupid secrets that needed knowing or because Harry was a shiny new toy. 

It was because he was hope. Hope for what, Tom didn't know, but he knew that if he lost it, something in him would shatter forever. 

"MY PENDANT!" screamed Harry, voice raw with pain and fear. "Riddle, give me the pendant!"  

Tom was whirling around before Harry could finish speaking and went to grab the metal pendant. The creatures had arrived when Harry had been separated from it. Could giving it back make them retreat? 

Running back toward the fray, he saw that Harry had already been dragged halfway to the green portal and was completely surrounded by the beasts. How he wasn't dead already like the old man, Tom had no idea, but he himself could never make it to Harry without being touched. He could try to throw the pendant to the boy, but how could he aim successfully in this chaos of disturbing lines? 

He would need to use Magic, but he didn't know if he could. As much as he was getting really good at brute force, Tom's hold on his power was still unreliable when it came to fine motor control. 

Except that after the realisation he had just had, everything was much simpler. 

Failing would break him. So failing was not an option. 

"Harry, catch!" he shouted. 

Without waiting to see if the boy had heard, he used his power to launch the pendant toward the boy. It wavered wildly through the air, going too high, and then too low, too much to the right and then too much to the left. Tom growled, bearing down on his power to control it. You obey ME, and not the other way around! 

The trajectory of the pendant adjusted. It went down in a perfect arc, and slipped under the tentacles of one beast to land on Harry's open palm. 

The beasts went insane. 

 

֍֍֍

 

As soon as his skin touched the pendant, Harry felt safe again. 

The searing pain in his legs and the bellowing scream inside his head made him confront the fact that he was not. 

"INFRINGER!" the furious voice made his skull tremble like a gong. "WHERE ARE YOU?! INFRINGER, YOU CAN'T HIDE FROM US!" 

The Warpers had stopped dragging him and were now moving around erratically. They're not holding me anymore! realised Harry, moving his legs. They were still hurting as if they were still in contact with the creatures, but he was now free. They… they don't seem to see me anymore! 

This should have made it easier to escape from the fray, now that the Warpers weren't restraining him. The problem was, now they just flailed instead, searching in a blind frenzy everywhere. Harry bit back a scream each time a tentacle — surprisingly solid and slimy, even if their edges were fuzzy — slid over him without feeling him. The horrible, icy pain was just as acute as before, digging sharp needles into his flesh. 

Harry tried to get up, but stumbled back down with a pained cry. His legs couldn't support his weight. 

He looked down at them in terror, but when he lifted up the end of his jeans, he didn't see any of the grey skin the old man had sported. His legs looked perfectly fine and healthy, if not for the fact that they were hurting like they were on cold fire. 

"INFRINGER!" 

Harry tried to crawl away from the Warpers and their painful tentacles, but the muscles in his legs were seizing, refusing to obey him. Each moment he spent amongst the fray was one of agony, the Warpers brushing and sliding over him all the time. Eventually, he couldn't bite back a cry when a slimy tentacle touched his ear, making him feel like his head was a block of ice exploding under a mallet. 

"INFRINGER!" The voice was delighted in its anger. "WE HEAR YOU!" 

The Warpers closed up once more around him, and true panic engulfed Harry. He couldn't sustain this level of pain for long! He was either going to be caught, or going to die here, painfully, without ever remembering what…! 

He yelped once more when he felt something wrap around his wrists, but it wasn't painful. It was a dark, enticing force, strong and yet intangible at the same time. 

Riddle's power. 

Harry could have wept in relief when the force pulled him out of the fray, dragging him on the grey grass until he was looking at Riddle's shoes. 

"Quick, lean on me!" said the other boy. He hoisted Harry up and passed his arm around his shoulders, before quickly hauling him away. Harry's legs could do such minimal work that Riddle was supporting most of his weight. 

"INFRINGER!" 

Harry's mind was buzzing weirdly, and he had the peculiar feeling that the Warpers were talking between themselves, on a wavelength just slightly different from the one they used to talk to him. He chanced a look back. 

"This is not over!" bellowed the voice that wasn't a voice. "Know that we'll come back and take you. You won't be able to hide forever, and we will NEVER STOP!" 

The dark shapes of warped reality were inching back, receding toward the green portal and taking their horrid aura with them. Harry could feel the air getting lighter as they disappeared through one by one. 

"They're leaving!" he said to Riddle. 

His shoe caught on a rock because he wasn't looking and they both went down. "Ah!" screamed Harry in pain, clutching his legs. The fall had awoken all the pain. 

Riddle took him under the arms and dragged him behind a thick mass of bushes, hiding them from the portal and the Warpers. He threw a wary glance at them above the vegetation, not seeming to trust this apparent retreat. He quickly kneeled back down in front of Harry though, and reached for his right foot. 

"They touched you?" he asked in an anxious voice. "Can you move your legs?" 

Harry blinked at this show of concern. It actually seemed genuine, which was just… well, honestly it was really weird. 

Riddle had actually saved his life, realised Harry. When he had called for the boy earlier, it had been out of sheer desperation and he hadn't actually thought he would answer. But he had , first by sending Harry the pendant, and then by pulling him out. And now he seemed honestly worried about him... Had Harry dreamed the boy trying to kill him with a rock earlier? 

He tried to wiggle his feet, and it worked, though he winced at the pain. Now that it wasn't constantly being reinforced by the Warpers' touch, it was slowly receding, though.  "They did," he said, "but I think it's fine." God, he certainly hoped so. "The pain is already going away a little. I think I just…" he looked behind him, trying to peer through the foliage to see the retreating Warpers. They were still slithering back through the gate. "…I just have to sit for a moment and let it pass." 

If this was actually relief on Riddle's face, then the world had definitely turned on its head. But then, it had already tilted quite a bit this afternoon. 

"Shouldn't you put your necklace back on?" asked Riddle. 

Harry opened his palm, looking down on the metal pendant. It looked as innocuous as ever, but Harry would never disregard it again. 

"I think as long as I'm in contact with it, it's alright." 

Riddle passed two hands through his hair, making it stand on end and completing his wide-eyed look. "Why?" he asked. "Why did all this happen? What are these… things?" 

All very good questions. But as usual, Harry didn't have the answers. 

"I don't know," he said quietly. He got goosebumps when remembering the otherworldly voice in his head, the slimy contact of the invisible tentacle on his ankle. "But they were looking for me. They… they called me an infringer." 

"They talked?" said Riddle. 

"In my head. Not in yours?"

Riddle blinked, and then very clearly chose to not think about that. "No. An infringer on what?"

"I don't know."

"What did they want with you?" 

"I don't know, okay!" exclaimed Harry, almost as frustrated with Riddle as he was with himself. "I don't know, Riddle. I never know anything ." 

He thought Riddle was going to snap at him, like he always did when Harry wasn't licking his boots, but he was in fact staring at Harry very strangely. The look was almost amazed, but keen. Like he was seeing Harry for the first time. 

"What?" asked Harry after a moment. 

"You really don't know," said Riddle in a quiet voice. "You really don't know anything. Your amnesia… it's real." 

It could have been astounding (or infuriating) to see Riddle look like his whole world had been shaken now when alien creatures had been wandering around for the past ten minutes and there was an open dimensional portal just behind them, but Harry was stunned too. 

"Why do you suddenly believe me?" he asked. "It's not like I've been repeating this for months…" 

Riddle hadn't looked away from him once. Harry wasn't even sure he blinked anymore. "No one can fake shock so well," said the boy after a beat. "Or fear, or frustration." 

"I'm sure some people can," countered Harry just to be contrary. 

The side of Riddle's lips twitched, but he still seemed too far away for his usual smirk. He did raise an eyebrow that made him look a little more like his wry old self, though. "Not you, you don't." 

"Maybe not," admitted Harry. He frowned. So what, Riddle believed him and suddenly all was forgiven? This was certainly not the case for Harry. "Your snake…" he started.

"Let's not talk about that," said Riddle, finally looking away, his expression darkening.  

"Well, I didn't kill it," insisted Harry. 

Riddle didn't respond right away. The way he was looking down… it was almost defeated. "I know," he finally breathed.

Then why the hell did you try to kill me? wanted to ask Harry in outrage. 

He got as far as "Then why—" before several resounding CRACK! echoed from behind the bushes, cutting him off. Both Harry and Riddle startled and shared a wild look. As one, they turned to look through the foliage and boggled at what they saw. 

As if the afternoon wasn't already strange enough, a handful of people had just appeared out of nowhere a few meters from the green portal. Wearing long black vests with golden buttons, they were brandishing sticks and looking around with alertness. 

Harry suddenly felt something very weird rise up in him. A strange, itching feeling of familiarity… 

"Alright, folks, what do we have here?" asked a tall black man loudly. And God, his voice sounded familiar too.  

"What in Merlin's name is that ?" asked a small woman, stick pointed toward what must have been the last Warper to slither through the gate. 

As soon as it had passed, there was a flash and the edges of the tear simply stitched themselves back together. The portal disappeared, like it had never been there. 

It was like a lead blanket had been removed from the park. The sun suddenly seemed brighter, the air warmer. Harry could even breathe better. 

The newcomers also seemed taken aback by what they had just seen. The black man shook himself first. 

"We have a civilian on the ground!" he barked, striding toward the old man lying a few meters away. He was careful not to step over the grey grass, though Harry already knew it was useless. He had just run all over it without any trouble. "Proudfoot, with me! Dawlish, run every diagnostic spell you can think of around the area! I want to know what the hell we just witnessed. Careful, don't step on the grey zones!" 

As he kneeled next to the old man, he turned toward the rest of his group. "Tonks! Savage! Williamson! Find me every muggle that saw this! I want to see their memories! After getting them, obliviate everyone. Don't forget to check the smartdrones." 

"The smart phones , sir," corrected the small woman who, Harry now noticed, had purple hair. 

Tonks , supplied his brain with the warmth of recognition. It's Tonks.  

"Yes, yes." The tall man waved a dismissive hand, pointing his stick at the old man.  "Check them. And find me these fighting boys that were mentioned in the call." 

"Yes, sir!" his group exclaimed, each member scattering to do their assigned task. The small woman, Tonks , came right toward the bushes, and Harry suddenly had a very bad feeling. 

"Take my hand," he whispered to Riddle, offering up the one with the pendant. 

"Why?" asked Riddle, even as he complied. He was also staring at Tonks with deep wariness. 

"Homenum revelio," she said an instant later, waving her stick about. 

The pendant suddenly became as cold as ice. Riddle startled, but didn't try to take his hand away. 

"Quick," said the boy, dragging Harry toward the inside of the bushes. "She'll see us." 

Harry followed him along distractedly. He knew this Tonks, he knew this black man... but more than that, the way their whole group had appeared, their sticks, the words they used… Harry felt that he was on the edge of a giant flash of memory, almost tipping over but still balancing. 

The boys stilled in the middle of the bushes right as the woman passed. A second later, and she would surely have noticed them. 

"No one this way!" she shouted to her companions, who had gone in different directions. "Merlin, all the muggles will have fled," she muttered under her breath while continuing her route. "This is gonna be a nightmare…" 

At the word "muggles", Harry gasped. As he finally tipped over the edge and into his hidden memories, he distantly felt Riddle slap a hand on his mouth to silence him. But he could pay attention to nothing but the flood of information that was suddenly drowning him. It was like a crack had been opened in a dam, releasing just a trickle of memories that was still enough to overwhelm him. Words, places, objects, names… 

Oh , shit. How could I forget?! 

He took several long moments to process what his mind had just offered him. When he came back to himself, Riddle was watching him with alarm, his hand still pressed against Harry's mouth. And now that so much had returned, the familiar feeling that was tugging at Harry's mind every time he looked at the boy was made far more apparent. He had known him before too, he was sure of that. How this was possible, considering that Riddle didn't seem to know him back, Harry wasn't sure, but he just knew

There were still memories to uncover, and some of the most important were about Tom Riddle. There was no doubt about that. 

Seeing that Harry's mind was back to the present, Riddle removed his hand carefully. "What is it?" he Riddle, peering at Harry intently. 

"I'll tell you later," he said, not knowing if he would actually do it. He looked around through the foliage, and saw that only the tall black man and two of his men remained. They were around the old man still, completely engrossed in what they were doing. 

Harry wiggled his feet once more. The pain was still there, but its sharp edge was gone. Harry would be able to run. 

Riddle and him came to the conclusion at the same time. "We need to go now," they whispered in unison. 

Harry nodded. "Don't let go of my hand with the pendant, or they'll find you," he warned. 

"Why?" 

Harry sighed. He opened his mouth tiredly, but Riddle beat him to the punch. "You don't know," he said in exasperation. "Alright, then. Let's go this way." he pointed toward the direction opposite to the three men, where the thick bushes could hide their escape between two hills. "That's the only way free from the others." 

They shared a determined look and, after getting out of the bushes, they ran away. 

They didn't let go of each other's hands. 

 

֍֍֍

 

Two hours later, in her office in North London, the Director of Wool's Children's Home was holding back a tired sigh. She couldn't help but think wistfully of her warm flat in which her cat and a ready-to-eat box of chicken curry were waiting for her. She should have been gone for forty minutes already, and would probably miss the beginning of her favourite political talk show. 

"Pass it on one more time, Harry, please," she said, leaning back on her chair with her fingers steepled under her chin. 

The boy nodded and went back to the beginning of the recording before pressing play again. Another voice soon filled the room. Lilian listened particularly intently when the Harry in the recording asked, his voice shocked: "Were you gonna hang Billy's rabbit on this rafter?" 

"Why are you using the past tense?" responded the other boy disdainfully. "You think you're going to stop me?"

"Why would you even do that?" asked the Harry of the recording. 

"You know why." 

"Yeah, I know. But it's just… so petty."

The other boy's laugh sent genuine shivers down Lilian's spine. "Well, that's me, " he answered. "I'm petty! With what he said , he's lucky I don't do it to him instead! But he'll feel worse this way." 

Lilian finally released her sigh, signaling for Harry to stop the recording. What she had heard wouldn't change even after listening to it a third time. Of course, she had suspected this boy of bullying for a long time — had heard several of her supervisors voicing concerns, even though no children had outright come forward to report him. But the idea that it was going this far, to the point of killing animals… no, she wouldn't have thought that. 

This was an extremely serious matter, and the recording was quite irrefutable. But… she didn't know why, but Lilian was still feeling a prickle of doubt itching in her mind. She did recognise the voice, but if only the boy had named himself in the recording, then at least she would have been a 100% sure… 

"Are you absolutely certain it was him?" she asked uselessly. 

The two boys who had been enemies the day before, and who had come knocking on her door a minute before she left, nodded in unison. 

"It was Jerry," confirmed Harry. 

"I saw Harry and him leave the attic," concurred Tom. "And he's been attacking other children for a long time." 

The little Tom Riddle had made Lilian wary almost since the beginning. Such a clever, quiet child, always knowing what to say but never having any friends… She wasn't blind — she knew the other children were afraid of him, and she had to admit it made her a little afraid, too. But right now, this wasn't about Tom. This was about Jerry Fendish, and she couldn't doubt what she had just heard him say. She couldn't even doubt Tom's dark, earnest eyes and his voice so full of sincerity. She found herself looking more at him than at Harry, drawn by something in his gaze that she couldn't name. 

"He was pitting us against each other," continued Tom with an assurance that was utterly impossible to disbelieve. "But we talked today, after the rabbit incident, and we understood."

Yes, yes… that would explain the terrible feud between the two boys. But still, Lilian felt like she was missing something. If only her mind wasn't so sluggish tonight… It had been such a long work day. 

"The recording…" she said. "I need to hear it again and—" 

"This has to stop," interrupted Tom gently, his dark eyes unfathomably huge and earnest. "Jerry will attack Billy's rabbit again, and he will keep bullying us. It's your job to protect us. You have to send him away." 

God, that was probably true. Such a hassle… 

"I will talk to Jerry," said Lilian. 

"You're right. Sending him to St Brutus instead of Harry is a good idea." 

Lilian frowned. She hadn't said that, had she? She opened her mouth to refute it, when a strong wave of fatigue hit her. God, she wanted to be done with this. But still… Harry… 

She turned toward the green-eyed boy. "Harry, you still need to go there. Your amnesia…"

"I need my friends to help me fight the amnesia!" begged Harry, pulling at her heartstrings. "Please, Mrs Cole, please! I already remembered a few things thanks to them! Please don't send me away!" 

She had been so sure that this was the right thing to do for him… but seeing him like that, begging her on the verge of tears, she wondered if she wasn't being cruel. She knew she could be too strict sometimes, too ruled by the needs of formality and bureaucracy, when children sometimes needed a gentle hand and to simply be listened to. 

"This is a very fine establishment, Harry," she tried to convince him anyway. Amnesia wasn't the only concern she had had for Harry, after all. "You will be well taken care of there…" 

"Harry needs to stay here," said Tom, making her gaze snap toward him again. "He is not a danger to himself or the others. It's Jerry who needs to go." 

Yes, Jerry's case… very concerning. Maybe this fleeting idea from a few moments ago had been right… Sending him to St Brutus did seem the best thing to do. And Harry… had she been mistaken in her doubt about Dennis Bishop's accident? She could be a little paranoid sometimes, and she didn't have any proof… 

"Can I stay?" begged Harry once again. 

The soft social worker she had been when she had first started working twenty years ago resurfaced when she saw his imploring eyes. She knew, in a part of her mind, that she could say no to him… but right now, it seemed unthinkable. 

"Oh…" she sighed, defeated. "Alright. I'll arrange things." 

Harry whooped, making her smile. Yes, this was the right decision. She could admit to herself now that she had grown fond of this little mite, and she would have been sad to let him go. But Jonathan Wood was due to arrive next week, and if someone didn't leave, there would be no bed for him. 

"You'll send Jerry to St Brutus?" checked Tom. 

This did seem like the only solution. After all, he had just been proved to be a danger to the children here. 

"Yes, I'll sort things out. I'll talk to him after the weekend." 

Tom leaned across the desk, surprising her when he took her hand, his face solemn. "He will lie," said the boy with utter conviction. "Don't listen to what he says." 

Lilian felt shaken, though she smiled and patted Tom's hand. "Don't worry Tom, I know how to do my job." She got up, and made a shooing motion. "Come on, now. I must go home, and you must go to dinner." 

The two boys stood up, stepping toward the door. Harry was lingering a little behind and threw her a bright-eyed look. "But I'm staying, right? You promise?" 

The number one rule she had learnt in her career as a social worker was: never ever promise anything to anyone. As much as they wanted to help the children and people under their care, they weren't gods. They lived in a cruel world, and things could turn wrong or fall through at any time. 

For the first time since she had become Director of Wool's, she broke that rule, feeling compelled by something beyond herself.  

"I promise," she vowed to Harry. 

The little boy hugged her, then, and she smiled. It was good to break the rules sometimes. 

 

֍֍֍

 

In the hall of Wool's, the two boys stood side by side as they watched Mrs Cole disappear out the door. Tom was wavering on his feet and leaning on Harry, feeling more drained than he had possibly ever felt. 

Harry was letting him, and even if Tom was aware that things were far from being alright between them, it still made something glow bright inside him.  

The other boy finally turned his head toward him. "You're sure she's gonna do it?" asked Harry.

Tom sighed. He had sometimes influenced other children here, and so he had thought that tweaking with Mrs Cole's mind wouldn't be that difficult. 

"Wrong" didn't fully encompass the extent of what he’d been — which seemed to be a running theme today. Mrs Cole's mind had been like an immovable rock, a mountain that he had been trying to push with wind alone. Making her believe that the voice she was hearing was Jerry's had taken more than half an hour of repeated listenings, and by the time she had believed it, Tom had barely had enough energy to nudge her toward the right conclusion. 

"I believe she will," he said tiredly. "But we'll see." 

He stepped away from Harry, turning fully toward him. 

"Now, for your end of the Pact," he said with determination. "Let's hear what you know." 

Harry narrowed his eyes. "Your end of the Pact wasn't to convince Mrs Cole. It is to never harm any of my friends again." 

Tom waved a hand irritatingly. "Yes, yes. I already said I wouldn't." 

It rankled to have been forced to swear this even though Harry's silly little gang could turn on him at any moment. But Harry had sworn to control them in turn. 

When they had come back to the Children's Home one hour and a half ago, they had gone straight to the clearing. Returning to the place where Medusa would now be absent forever had hurt a little, but this was the most private place in Wool's. 

There, they had debriefed everything they had seen. The "Warpers," the fight, the strange people. Harry had admitted that he had remembered things in the last hour, but he had refused to say what. Tom had been so frustrated that he had been tempted to return to threats to make him speak, but then… they had looked at each other, and Tom knew Harry had been thinking the same thing as him.  They had already fought, again and again, and nothing had ever come of it. Neither of them had ever truly won. 

They couldn't continue like this. Not while the universe was so much more dangerous than they had thought. 

"Let's make a Pact," had said Tom. 

The terms were simple. Harry would be open to Tom, revealing the things he remembered as they came, and in exchange, Tom would, in Harry's disgusting words: "behave." He would stop harassing Harry, and he wouldn't hurt any of his friends again. The war would be over. They had shaken hands on it.

"So?" insisted Tom in the hall. "If you hide things from me, our Pact is moot."

"If you hurt any of my friends, our Pact is moot too." 

Tom sighed. "I don't care about your silly friends. You know what I care about." 

And there, Harry actually smiled. It was a sly, wicked thing, but not malevolent. It even stole Tom's breath away, because there almost seemed to be an edge of complicity in it. 

"Yes," said Harry smugly. "And I'll give it to you." 

"What is it?" 

Harry's smile grew, becoming an outright grin. 

"The Wizarding World."

 

Notes:

End of the first Arc! They might even get to Hogwarts soon, and it only took 49K words! *cry-laugh* Jesus, this fic is gonna be longer than the Lord of the Rings trilogy and all the Harry Potter books combined.

Edit from the future: Okay, "soon" is a very relative word you all. xD

Chapter 9: Undercover Wizards

Chapter Text

"Vampires?" 

"Real." 

"Werewolves?" 

"Real." 

Troubled whispers arose. 

"…Ghosts?" asked Billy with a look of utter terror on his face. 

Harry hesitated, looking at his four friends all huddled around him in a corner of the empty dorm. They were all visibly praying for a "not real," but in the end, Harry decided to be honest. "Hmm… yeah, they're real." 

Billy gulped, Jack shuddered, and Amy slapped a hand on her mouth, eyes round. Eric, for his part, looked almost dejected. 

"Well, shit," he said. "It's official. I'll never step a foot outside anymore." 

"They're nice, really," Harry tried to reassure the others. "There is a huge prejudice against them." 

"And how do you know that?" asked Amy, slightly paler than usual. "Have you ever met any?" 

Harry's heart gave a twinge when he thought of the word "werewolves," but nothing more came for the two other dreaded groups, except a distant sense of familiarity. He bowed his head, playing sullenly with his metal pendant. "I feel like I have," he said finally, "but… who knows." 

"Sorry…" said Amy, repentant. "I shouldn't have asked…" 

"You'll remember the rest, Harry!" exclaimed Billy in a cheering tone, putting a comforting hand on his knee. "You remembered so much already!" 

So much, and yet so little. 

He remembered Magic now —  remembered almost everything of it, really, from wands to owls, from the Ministry to Goblins, and even butterbeer. It was almost too much information to handle at once, and Harry had been plagued by a terrible headache since Saturday. 

But all of this information… was so frustratingly distant. So removed. It was like it wasn't him at all who had lived in that world. He had no personal memory there, no emotional attachment. Had he visited the shops he remembered? Had his parents been wizards? When he tried to find a connection to his own life, he always drew a blank. In a way, it was almost like the Wizarding World's Wikipedia had been downloaded into his head — precise, thorough, and suitably detached. 

Make no mistake, Harry was happy to remember all this. But given the opportunity to choose… he would have probably taken the memories of his family. 

Not everyone shared this opinion, though — and particularly not the boy who suddenly slammed the dormitory's door open, making the small group of children startle. 

"Harry, come here!" exclaimed Riddle excitedly. "Jerry's being shipped off right now!" 

He strode into the dorm but, when he saw that the three other kids were there, he stopped in his tracks. "Oh," he said in disgust. "You're with them again." 

Amy, Billy and Jack hadn't totally lost the habit of cowering in front of Riddle yet, and they did so by reflex when the boy's gaze landed on them. But according to the Pact, Riddle couldn't do anything to them anymore — a fact that Harry had been happy to relay. Harry could see the moment when the children remembered it. Amy lifted her chin to look directly at Riddle for maybe the first time in her life, and Billy puffed up his chest. Eric, for his part, rose to his feet. 

" Again ?" said the boy indignantly. "You've been hogging him for the past three days! You remember you're not his friend, right? We are." 

Eric had been milking the Pact for all it was worth since Saturday. Harry didn't begrudge him this — the ability to stand up to Riddle was after all the only thing his friends had gotten out of the arrangement. Eric (or any of the others, really, but Eric was the worst) hadn't taken the news that Riddle would stay at Wool's very well. Harry had only avoided their ire by explaining that the recording had been useless anyway, since Riddle could manipulate Mrs Cole's perception of it. Even if Harry wasn't sure he agreed, the fact that Riddle had saved his life had been ruled by all his friends to be meaningless; a part of the boy's obsession for Harry, or, at best, a fluke of humanity. And the way he had then proceeded to demand Harry's company at all times, making him sit with him at school or eat meals at his table, hadn't endeared him to them any more. 

A feeling that was entirely mutual. Riddle peered at Eric with an almost baffled contempt, like he still couldn't believe such a low form of life could actually talk to him. "Yes," he said belittlingly. "I'm aware of his dreadful lack of taste, thank you." Before Eric could respond, he turned to Harry. "Come. It's time." 

Harry raised an eyebrow while Eric and Amy glared at Riddle. "Time for what?" he asked. "Saying goodbye to Jerry? I think I'm good, thanks." 

Riddle rolled his eyes. "I don't care about Jerry. But Mrs Cole and Percy are going with him, which means less people left at Wool's to watch us. It's the perfect time to go on a little excursion unnoticed." He looked pointedly at Harry. 

Harry immediately understood what he wanted — Riddle had been harassing him about it non stop since he had learnt of its existence. "You want to go to Diagon Alley now ? But we said we would wait 'til the weekend!" 

Riddle's dark eyes widened in shock, and he turned a horrified face toward Harry's friends. "You…"

It was Harry's turn to roll his eyes. "They know, Riddle. I've told them all about it." 

A mix of complicated emotions fleeted quickly on Riddle's face; shock, hurt, consternation, outrage. Predictably, it settled on outrage. "You what ?" 

"Of course he told us," said Eric proudly. "Like I said, we're his best friends." 

Riddle's eyes didn't even flick to the boy, staying fixated on Harry. He grabbed him by the forearm and roughly pulled him to his feet. "Conversation," he said between gritted teeth. " Now ." 

Harry let himself be dragged away rather than put up a useless fight, sending a soothing look to his friends above his shoulder to signify that he was okay. They didn't seem happy, but they let them both go. They were beginning to be quite used to this happening.   

Riddle's grip didn't loosen until he had pushed Harry in a secluded corner of the south stairwell. He opened his mouth furiously, but Harry preempted any tirade he was about to make by speaking first. "You already knew that they knew." 

"That you had powers, yes!" countered Riddle, with red spots on his pale cheeks. "Not… the whole deal!" 

Harry spread his hands. "Well, they do. What does it matter? They're not shouting it from the rooftops, and them knowing doesn't take anything from you." 

Riddle looked so affronted it was almost funny. His mouth opened and closed several times, probably searching for an argument to make. In the end, he spat: "They're Muggles !"

Harry looked at him sternly. "You literally learnt that word three days ago." 

Riddle glared. "I learnt that there was a word for it three days ago, not that these people existed. I always knew we were different from them." 

"Different doesn't mean—" 

"Oh my God, don't even finish that sentence." He stepped forward and took Harry by the shoulders, startling him. He shook him, eyes wide and intense. "Harry: they're not. Like. Us! They are a threat — even the rest of our species knows it. Didn't you say that the Ministry of Magic created the Statute of Secrecy specifically to protect us from them? You're breaking the law!" 

Harry brushed the other boy's hands off. "We're not a different species," he said, rolling his eyes. "And how you of all people can lecture me about breaking the law without choking on your tongue, I don't even know." 

"It's Magical Law." 

Harry raised an eyebrow, amused despite himself. Since Saturday, he had come to realise that Riddle was treating Magic with an almost worshipful level of respect. Harry hadn't even known that the boy was capable of this emotion, and he had to admit it was a little endearing to watch him drink his words whenever one of their "lessons" popped up. (Which was often, as the boy could barely spend ten minutes without dragging Harry away and asking complicated questions Harry couldn't answer about the making of wands or the details of international Wizarding diplomacy.) 

"The Wizarding World has anti-theft and anti-assault laws, too," Harry said lightly. "Do you intend to turn yourself in?" 

Riddle waved an irritated hand. "Stop joking about this. We need to obliviate them." 

Harry's smile fell from his face. He had very carefully never told Riddle about many things, and obliviating was one of them. "How do you know what obliviating is?" 

Riddle narrowed his eyes. "So you did know, and you didn't tell me." 

Harry huffed, irritated in turn. "I didn't think of it yet! But how do you know?" 

Riddle shrugged, seeming almost affronted that Harry could think that he wouldn't know. "The Auror leader said it on Saturday? Obliviate is a real word, you know. It comes from Latin and means to forget or erase from existence. And, suspiciously, no one in the world seems to know about Magic. I'm not stupid: they're erasing the Muggles' memories to maintain the Statute of Secrecy. And we need to do the same." 

Riddle's mind was frighteningly quick sometimes. Well, alright, all the time. This didn't bode well for all the other terrible uses of Magic that Harry would rather keep from him. This was going to be really difficult, if not downright impossible. He sighed and rubbed his face. 

"We're not obliviating anyone. One, the obliviating spell is very complicated…"

"Is it?" Riddle looked honestly surprised. "Maybe my way is easier, then." 

Harry was afraid to ask, fearing that he already knew. "…Your way?" 

A smug look replaced the earlier one on Riddle's face. "Once, a supervisor caught me doing something… I wasn't supposed to," he said cockily. "I made him forget what he had seen." 

A small, dense silence settled between them. 

"That's… impressive," understated Harry, working hard to hide how troubled he really was. Riddle preened, working hard to hide how glad Harry's compliment really made him. 

The truth was, since Harry had regained his memories, he had a vast background of knowledge on Magic. He had been able to look back at Riddle's feats of power with this perspective, trying to compare and analyse to what he knew. 

But there was simply no comparing. 

Using Magic without a wand was incredibly difficult. Doing it without a spell wasn't even a field of Magic, as it was beyond even the majority of the most accomplished witches or wizards. Children had bouts of accidental magic, but that's what it was: accidental. It couldn't be controlled, and Harry now knew that even the way he had managed to push Riddle on two occasions by channelling his anger would be considered amazing by most. 

But Riddle… he was truly doing it at will. He could make things fly, could restrain people, could make light appear in the palm of his hand, how and when he decided. Worse, he was able to use Legilimency — one of the hardest sorts of Magic known to Wizardkind. He was proficient enough to compel people or animals, make them believe lies when they were hearing the truth with their own ears, and even, Harry was learning it now, make them forget things they had just seen. 

At nine years old. Without a wand. 

Without even a spell. 

It was one thing to have powerful Magic. It was something else entirely to have this level of precise, unbending control over it at such a young age. 

Yes, since Saturday, Harry had spent a lot of time wondering what cold-blooded, cold-hearted Tom Riddle would become when he would have the whole Wizarding World at his fingertips. 

And he was… worried. 

"I've never tried it on something so big," said Riddle. "But as you messed it all up, I will have to—" 

He cut himself off when the sound of double doors banging open resonated from the floor above them. Steps echoed quickly down the stairwell, and they both raised their heads toward the oncoming intruder. 

A ten year old Asian girl whose name Harry didn't remember froze in the middle of the steps when she saw them. She let out a strange squeal and rushed back up like she had stumbled upon two demons lurking in the shadows instead of two nine year olds chatting. The door banged closed behind her a second time less than three seconds later. 

Harry sighed. The way he was treated since word had spread he had powers too had still not abated. Even if he had never been any less than polite to anyone in Wool's other than Riddle and Jerry's gang, people were behaving as if he was liable to kill them on sight at any moment. Only Eric, Amy, Billy, and Jack still hung out with him, and even his dormmates were giving him a wide berth. 

"You see that, Riddle?" he asked tiredly. "That's the reason there is no use obliviating my friends. Unless you want to obliviate everyone in Wool's, too." 

Riddle waved a dismissing hand. "Most of them don't know what they know. They have suspicions, things they saw but can't explain. Your friends ? They know all the details, now! The what, the how, the who, the why, and even the where! You gave classified information to the enemy!" 

The uneasy feeling that prickled at Harry around Riddle was stronger when the boy said things like that. It itched and scratched inside him, whispering that he was still forgetting something important about the boy. Something bad. 

"Come," said Riddle, grabbing Harry by the forearm again. "Let's go back to them. We have to do it now, before they can tattle. Diagon Alley will have to wait." 

Harry planted his heels and tugged on his arm sharply, freeing himself. "Riddle! You're not doing anything to them! It's the Pact!" 

Riddle turned and threw his hands in the air. "The Pact said I won't harm them. I won't. I will simply take back what you shouldn't have given in the first place! Now, come!" 

He tried to grab Harry's wrist again, but failed. Soon, it was Harry's turn to pin Riddle against the wall. 

"You'll leave them be!" he growled. The idea of having Riddle mess inside his friends' heads, making them forget everything Harry had entrusted to them was unbearable. Not only would it be a horrible violation, but then, he would only have Riddle left to share Magic with, and that was simply not an option. 

"Or what?" asked Riddle, smug despite the rough treatment. "You won't tell me about Magic anymore? You won't show me Diagon Alley? That would break the Pact, and then I would be free to do much worse than just making them forget a few things." 

Looking in Riddle's dark eyes, Harry felt helpless for a second. He had nothing else to bargain with. Except, maybe… 

"We'll practice Magic together," he said, careful not to beg. 

A spark lit in Riddle's eyes, like Harry had suspected it would. Riddle had asked for it a thousand times since Saturday, and Harry had always rebuffed him. It felt too close, too much like being partners or — God forbid — friends. But now… I should have been more precise with the terms of the Pact, he thought sullenly. 

"They'll make a vow of secrecy to you," continued Harry. "Even a magical one, once we know how to cast the spell. And in exchange, you and I will practice together and you'll let them be." 

Riddle leaned his head against the wall behind him, trying to look indifferent. The avid gleam in his eyes betrayed him, though. He gazed at Harry pensively for several long seconds, and then said: 

"Alright."

Harry sighed in relief, stepping away from Riddle. 

"I'm not finished," said Riddle, frowning. "Learning to cast the magical vow of secrecy will be our top priority, now. No delaying." 

"Alright," said Harry. Surely, the others would agree to pledge a vow, right? Harry had told them how big of a secret this all was. 

"And we will cast it to everyone you spilled the beans to. Am I right to suspect that this includes Bishop?" Something on Harry's face must have showed, because Riddle nodded and continued without stopping. "Right, of course. Anyone else?" 

"No!" exclaimed Harry, a little miffed to be so easily readable. 

"There's that, at least," sighed Riddle. He straightened and approached Harry, stopping uncomfortably close. The way he was looking straight into Harry's eyes emphasised their slight height difference. "From today, we'll do Magic training together. We'll practice every day—" 

"Not every freaking day!" 

Riddle gritted his teeth but didn't falter. "Five days a week, for at least two hours." 

Harry's eyes almost popped out of their sockets. "Are you insane? One time per week, for an hour!" 

Riddle's expression was thunderous. "Four times, for two hours." 

Harry shook his head firmly. "I won't go above three times for one hour." 

Riddle's face split in a grin and he thrust out his hand. "Done." 

The change was so sudden, it made Harry's head spin. He glowered. "You just manipulated me, didn't you?" 

"Did I?" asked Riddle cheekily. "You simply gave me your terms and I agreed, that's all."

Harry swallowed back an insult and forced himself to take Riddle's offered hand. He was about to shake it (something they were doing entirely too often these days), when Riddle tightened his grip. His gaze turned dark and serious. 

"You give me your word," he said insistently. "You will not back out, or drag your feet, or suddenly stop one day just because I did something you didn't like." 

Harry narrowed his eyes. "Are you planning on something?" he asked warily. 

"No. I just know you." 

"Well, I know you too. So you'll swear to never use Magic on my friends without their consent. Ever ." 

Riddle made a face like Harry was going way too far. "For God's sake… I'll swear not to do it without your consent." 

"No, theirs! They are their own people, you know." 

"Yes, that's precisely the trouble," deadpanned Riddle. Under Harry's unblinking gaze, his mouth twisted bitterly. "I'll swear never to do it, except in self-defence." 

Three days ago, Harry would have agreed. Now, he asked: "Define self-defence." 

Riddle glared and huffed. "If my life or my physical integrity is being threatened by them. Is that enough for you, your Honor?" 

Harry thought about it, and then said: "It's enough. But I'll stop doing Magic with you if you ever kill or maim someone again." As Riddle opened his mouth indignantly, he added: "Not in self-defence." 

Riddle pouted a little, but then shook Harry's hand. "Alright. Let's get to it, then." 

 

 

֍֍֍

 

 

"Of course we'll swear!" exclaimed Eric. "But not to you!" 

They were back in the Blue dorm with Harry's friends, and Riddle was rolling his eyes hard. "I don't care who you swear secrecy to, as long as you do it." 

Billy turned to Harry with a hurt expression. "You don't trust us anymore?" 

Harry sighed. "Of course I trust you, Billy. But he doesn't," he said, pointing to Riddle. "Believe me, this is the easiest way to have him off our backs." 

Eric folded his arms. "Still," he grumbled, "I thought we weren't supposed to do what he says anymore. We…" 

Amy suddenly stepped up, stopping in front of Riddle and looking him right in the eye. Even he seemed taken aback. "I promise to never tell anyone outside of this room about Harry's powers or yours, or about the secret Magic Society," she said in a tired voice.  "And when you find your magical vow, I will swear it again. Okay?" 

Riddle peered at her with narrowed eyes, and then slowly nodded. "Alright." 

"Me too," said Jack, looking at Harry fervently. "I promise." 

All heads turned toward Billy and Eric. The former looked down at his shoes a little sullenly. "I already promised," mumbled the ginger, "but I'll do it one more time if I have to." He looked up at Harry through his lashes. "I promise to never tell anyone either." 

Harry gave him a little smile. "Thank you," he said softly. 

"So?" asked Riddle to Eric. 

"Goddammit! I promise, okay?!" said Eric. "So, when are we going?" 

 Riddle frowned. "Going…?" 

Jack took a bouncing step forward. "To Diagon Alley!" He threw a bright look at Harry. "I want to see the joke shop you talked about!" 

"And the Magical Menagerie!" exclaimed Billy, the pout melting away from his face. 

"I want to get on a broom," said Eric with a grin. 

"I want to see the people there!" said Amy. "I can't believe there really is a secret society completely separate from us!" 

Harry looked at the clock, reluctant. A part of him had wanted to wait until Dennis had come back from the hospital to visit Diagon Alley with all of them. But Dennis' dismissive reaction when he had told him of his powers was still fresh in his mind, and he couldn't help but wonder if his friend would even want to go at all.

 "It would have been better to go on Saturday or Sunday," he said slowly. "We'll  just have two or three hours to go and return before dinner." 

Riddle was looking at him with mounting horror. "You're not serious," he breathed. 

Harry held back a sigh, knowing exactly what this was about. "They swore a vow," he said. "They'll not tell anyone what they see." 

" No ." 

"Oh, come on!" begged Jack with puppy eyes. "We'll be very discreet!" 

"In and out," said Eric. 

"I vouch for them," insisted Harry. It seemed so unfair to keep the joy of Magic from them only because they had the bad luck to be born without it. 

"NO!" shouted Riddle, looking at Harry like he had gone mad. 

"Please!" 

"Just this time!" 

"NOT OVER MY DEAD BODY!" 

 

֍֍֍

 

 

"Don't look too bright-eyed and awed, or we'll stand out," instructed Harry to the little group he was leading in the streets of London. 

"We'll already stand out," gritted out Riddle, who had been glaring at Harry, his friends, the sidewalks and even the blue sky since they had sneaked out of Wool's. "We're too many." 

"Maybe you should drop out, then," said Eric cheerfully. 

Riddle stopped and whirled around, almost colliding face to face with Eric. "You feel protected," he spat. "You feel safe . But one day, when you least expect it—" 

Harry grabbed Riddle by the arm and forced him to start walking again, sending a smile to the passersby who were looking at them funny. "Stop it, now," he said in Riddle's ear, the smile still plastered to his face. "We agreed to be civil to each other for this outing." 

"I agreed no such thing," growled Riddle. "They shouldn't be here." 

Eric's voice sounded from behind them. "And you shouldn't exist, and yet here we are." 

Harry cast a wild glare all around the group. "That's enough! We all go together, or we don't go at all. If that's how you're gonna behave, then we might as well go back to Wool's now." 

"Oh, no!" despaired Jack. "Harry, please!"

Eric was looking at the back of Riddle's head like he wanted it to catch fire. "He crippled Dennis, and I'm supposed to be nice to him?" 

Harry clenched his teeth for a moment, swallowing back the familiar rage that was trying to go up his throat when thinking of his friend's plight. "Not nice," he said when he was able to talk again. "Civil. Just during Diagon Alley, so we don't get spotted." He threw an apologetic look at Eric above his shoulder. "I understand if you can't (Riddle scoffed, Harry ignored him), but you need to tell me now so we can go back. Because if we're found out in the Wizarding World, it will be bad ." 

"Maybe you should have thought of this before taking a bunch of Muggles with us," mumbled Riddle under his breath.  

"You look just as Muggle as them right now, for your information," said Harry in a stern voice. 

"I really don't like this word," remarked Amy. "It sounds… offensive, somehow." 

Riddle turned his head toward her with a manic, unnatural smile. "No, you think ?" 

Amy frowned and opened her mouth like she was about to snap at Riddle for the first time in her life, but thankfully, they finally turned a corner into Charing Cross road and came right into view of their destination. 

"Here!" exclaimed Harry, a strange, fluffy feeling squeezing his chest. "The Leaky Cauldron!" 

It was there, just as it ought to be, nestled between a bookshop and a vintage record store. It looked just like any other pub, if not for the hanging sign in the form of a wizard on a broom and the feeling that its medieval appearance was genuine and not a reconstitution. Harry didn't remember having ever gone there personally, but he knew he must have, because the sense of nostalgia and familiarity was so strong that the pub might as well have been an old family house. 

It's real , he thought, feeling like he might actually cry. You didn't invent everything. 

"It doesn't look very grand," said Riddle, who was nonetheless staring transfixed at the pub. 

"Where is it?" asked Billy, looking around. 

"I don't see it," said Eric. 

Harry suddenly felt very stupid. He slapped his hand on his forehead. "Oh, crap! You can't see it. It's warded against Muggles." 

"Ha!" laughed Riddle, delighted. 

"What?" said Jack, alarmed. "Does it mean we won't be able to get in?" 

"Yes you will," said Harry, glaring at Riddle. "Muggles sometimes go there with their Muggleborn children. Do you see something between the bookshop and the record store?" 

"An abandoned shop," said Eric. 

"Yes," said Amy. "It looks very uninteresting." 

"Really?" asked Riddle, captivated despite himself. 

"Yes," said Amy. "I try to focus on it, but it's almost like my mind doesn't want to. Oh! Is that on purpose?" 

Jack clapped his hands enthusiastically. "This is soo cool! Talk about a secret entrance!" 

"I wish I could see the pub," said Eric, a little disappointed. 

"You can once you get inside," said Harry. "Come, follow me. And remember: act natural!" 

Their excitement was like a buzzing cloud around them as they crossed the street. Harry stopped for a second in front of the door of the pub, shared a look with his companions, and went in. 

The scent of wood wax, candles, pipe smoke, and beer invaded his nose while his eyes drank in the sight before him. A huge smile stretched his lips. It was exactly as he remembered it: dark, shabby, and yet welcoming. A group of middle-aged wizards was occupying the centre table, laughing uproariously around pints of beer. A few other patrons were sitting at the bar or around the room, all wearing bright wizarding robes — with the notable exception of a Goblin, who was dressed  in all dark, staring grumpily into his plate of red meat. Nobody looked at them twice, except… 

"Oi, children!" said the bald barman, behind his bar where glasses were floating in line behind an animated dishcloth that wiped them one after the other. "What are you doing here alone?" 

Harry couldn't help it; when his eyes met those of the barman, recognition sparked and the name suddenly slipped from his tongue. "Tom!" he said. 

His companions were huddled around him, and he felt Riddle startle at the sound of his name. The barman's eyebrows rose. "Yes?" he said. 

"Our parents allowed us to go buy some ice cream at Florean Fortescue's," said Harry in a fit of inspiration. "We have until six-thirty." 

"Hmm," said Tom-Not-Riddle, peering at them. "And how old are you?" 

"Ten," he lied. 

"My, my, the children get smaller every year!" exclaimed a little old witch with a pink hat who was sitting with a friend at the bar. She rummaged inside her pockets and got out a few coins. She counted six of the silver ones and handed them to Harry. "Here, have a drink to go with it! Eating ice-cream is thirsty work." 

Harry hurried to take them. "Thank you, madam! Thank you very much!" 

She waved him off. "No, it's alright. I wish I had grandchildren to spend them on. Come on, go and have fun!" 

Harry threw a questioning look to Tom-Not-Riddle, who nodded to them. "No mischief," he said. 

Harry was so happy to be here that he actually winked at the man. "We'll try!" 

The old witches laughed, and the mouth of Tom-Not-Riddle twitched. Harry led the way toward the courtyard at the back. When the door of the pub closed behind their little group, furious whispers erupted. 

"Oh my God!" said Amy with bright eyes. "Was that a witch ?" 

"You're seriously focusing on the woman?" asked Eric, who looked shell-shocked. "Didn't you see the glasses wiping themselves and the thing sitting at one of the tables?!" 

"It was a Goblin," said Harry, walking toward the back wall with a smile. It was weird to realise that he was even happy to have seen a Goblin again. He hadn't missed the Wizarding World exactly, since he hadn't remembered it, but there had been a hole inside him that was now closing slowly. 

"Wicked!" exclaimed Jack, who was almost vibrating in excitement. "You think we can talk to him when we get back?" 

"Hmm… I don't know if—" 

"Show us the coins, Harry!" begged Billy. 

He tugged Harry's fist open, revealing the silver sickles in his palm. 

"Oooh!" exclaimed Amy, leaning over them with fascination. "They have a different currency, too?" 

Harry was about to answer when Riddle, who had been standing aside silently and staring at the door of the pub with intense, smoldering dark eyes, suddenly turned and spoke up:

"Harry, why are we in a dirty courtyard?" 

His voice was calm, a little bossy as usual, but when Harry met his gaze, he could almost feel the powerful undercurrent that was sweeping through the boy. His world had been rocked, and he was in equal parts avid and scared, cautious and enthralled. Did he feel the staggering joy of finally being where he belonged? Did he have the absurd fear of being discovered as a fraud and cast out, or did such an idea never occur to the ever-confident Tom Riddle? 

Either way, Harry couldn't help but share a conspiratorial smile with him, for the first time feeling a connection that he couldn't have with the others. Yes , he thought, elated. This is our world. This is where we belong. 

Harry stepped aside from the wall and gestured for Riddle to take his place. "Tap the brick on the wall, third up from the rubbish bin and second on the left." 

The excited whispers of the children fell silent. Riddle shared an almost feverish look with Harry and then stepped toward the wall, stopping next to the green bin. He counted the bricks with a thin finger and, with just a hesitant glance toward Harry, he knocked on the right one like you would knock on a door. 

Even Riddle let out a sharp breath when the wall started rumbling. He stepped back hurriedly while the bricks rearranged themselves on each side, first creating a hole and then a rough but beautiful archway. 

Beyond, the meandering streets of Diagon Alley were spreading, full of bright shops and wizarding folks. 

"Shit!" said the awed voice of Eric. 

Riddle shook himself first, stepping unsteadily through the arch like he was pushed by something outside of himself. Harry and the others followed him, letting the wall reform behind them. They stopped a few feet from it, blinking at the sun that was reflecting off the shop windows but didn't manage to hide the strange and wondrous objects displayed behind them. 

Harry tried to look at it, not with the joy of coming back to a familiar place, but with the fresh eyes of someone seeing it for the first time, like his friends and Riddle. It was a little like a medieval fantasy town. The paved streets and the narrow, high houses with wooden beams and red-tiled roofs blended smoothly with the animated shop signs, the colourful fumes exiting some chimneys or the people walking around. On a Tuesday afternoon, the Alley wasn't actually that crowded, but Harry knew that to his companions, the sight of all those witches and wizards in robes and pointy hats would be overwhelming. Most were striding forward purposefully on their way to somewhere, while some lounged on the tables outside of tea shops or were simply strolling leisurely, laughing with friends while carrying shopping bags. 

"What's that building at the end?" breathed Jack, pointing to the high dome and snowy white walls of another familiar place. 

"That's Gringotts, the bank," answered Harry, strangely proud to show it off. "If you want to see Goblins, that's where you need to go, though I don't recommend visiting it now, since we don't have anything to withdraw. Goblins aren't exactly patient peop— Hey, Riddle! Wait for us!" 

The dark-haired boy had taken off without any warning, straight toward… Oh, of course , thought Harry while running after him with the others. Flourish and Blotts was standing at the end of their trajectory. He must have seen the books through the shop window. 

They reached the bookshop just as the door was closing behind Riddle. Harry caught it so they could get inside. 

Harry's friends huddled once more around him as the clerk greeted them from the end of the shop. The place was as familiar as the rest of Diagon, with its books rising up to the ceiling, but Harry found it… strangely empty. He didn't know why, but he had the feeling that he had only come here before when it was packed full of customers. 

A sign was pointing toward different sections of the shop, like "Broomology", "Potente potions" or "Arithmancy". Riddle was disappearing behind the shelf labelled "Duelling." What a surprise , thought Harry ironically. 

The boy had already a book in hand by the time Harry and the others reached him. 

"It's lucky I said we should stick together, right?" snarked Harry, stopping beside him. 

"I'm not a baby chick with its mother hen," retorted Riddle calmly, not raising his eyes from the book summary. "You didn't tell me about this," he added. 

"This?" 

"Duelling." 

Well, duh , wanted to answer Harry. Instead he said: "Didn't think of it, yet." 

"Right." 

"Jesus, this shit's brutal," said Eric. 

Harry turned his head toward his friends, who had got out a thick book. It was opened on an illustration of someone getting disembowelled from the inside by snakes. (Or had the bowels turned into snakes??) 

Billy was a little green. "I knew Magic could do horrible things. I was sure of it." 

"That's why you should work to stay away from it, Stubbs," said Riddle, turning a page casually. Then, to Harry, he said: "All these spells need a wand." 

"I told you they did," said Harry, looking at the book above his shoulder. The page was describing a variant of the Confundus charm. 

"We need to get one." 

Harry huffed. How nice it would be to have his wand back! 

He stopped at the thought. His wand back ? He had thought children weren't allowed to have wands before eleven? How could he have had one? 

Riddle put the book back on the shelf. "Harry? We need to go to the wand shop you talked about. It's the first step." 

Harry shook his head slightly to clear his thoughts, attracting a peering look from Riddle. "I don't think Ollivander would sell them to us right now. We're not old enough." 

Riddle clenched his jaw, infuriated at the idea of being refused something. "We can lie and say we're eleven." 

Eric guffawed. "You don't even look ten. I'm the only one who could fool anyone." 

"Anyway!" said Harry quickly before Riddle could retort something and launch another battle. "We don't have enough money. A wand is like, ten galleons." 

A calculating gleam entered Riddle's eyes, ringing alarm bells inside Harry's head. "How much is a galleon?" he asked. 

"It's 17 sickles, like the coins the witch gave us. A sickle is 29 knuts." 

Riddle blinked, astounded. Harry empathised. 

"Wow, that's complicated," said Amy, voicing everyone's thoughts. "Why did they set it up like that?" 

"Maybe so stupid Muggles couldn't understand," snapped Riddle, seeming annoyed even though he had clearly been thinking the same thing a second before. 

Amy gave him a no-nonsense look. "You have to admit that our system is better. At least it's round numbers." 

"Yes, so stupid Muggles can under—

"Stop it," whispered Harry harshly, seeing the store clerk coming deceptively closer. "We can't buy anything here, let's get out." 

But Riddle insisted on continuing to browse the shelves, and the others were interested in Magic books too. Jack and Billy went to get lost in the Magical creatures section while Riddle abandoned "Duelling" to go to "Etiquette". Harry followed Amy and Eric to the broomology section. Amy laughed when they looked at pictures of Quidditch players, quickly getting over her shock at seeing the images move to say between giggles: "It's real! The broom thing, it's real! I can't believe it!" 

"Shh," said Harry, darting a look toward where he had last seen the store clerk. 

"I mean, the brooms, the pointy hats, the wands …" She looked at him frankly, mirth in her eyes. "We already know everything about you, don't we? We just believe it's stories." 

Harry thought about it, and couldn't help but smirk. "Pretty much, yeah." 

They kept looking around for quite some time, finally drawing the store clerk to them, who asked with badly veiled suspicion if he could help them with anything. As the cheapest book they had found was at 15 sickles, and most of them were between 1 and 5 galleons, they resolved to get out, having to half-drag Jack and Riddle behind them. 

" 'This is not a library', " said Eric in a nasally voice when they got back out in the street, imitating the store clerk. "Jesus, the booksellers are the same everywhere." 

"Is there a library in Diagon Alley?" asked Riddle, looking forlornly at the bookshop above his shoulder. 

Harry drew a blank. "Hum… There's one in Hogwarts." 

"You mean the school in Scotland where we won't go for another two and a half years? Thank you, that's useful." 

God, this boy was irritating. 

They went from shop to shop, looking in restrained wonder at the wall of clocks in Globus Mundi the travel agency, at quills that wrote by themselves in Scribbulus, and at a wide variety of things in Wiseacre Wizarding Equipment, from talking mirrors to crystal balls. After Harry had explained what it was, Amy fell in love with the Pensive that was displayed in an alcove, vowing that she would return one day to buy it, even if it cost 95 galleons. All in all, Harry's friends actually managed to act somewhat inconspicuous, despite their starry-eyed stares and their excited whispers. They did gawk when they passed what was maybe probably definitely an ogre in the street, and Billy did let out a high-pitched scream and fall on his arse when he stepped on the foot of a Goblin that was exiting the Local Ministry Office - but overall, they did very well. 

The harder one to restrain was actually Riddle. Not that he acted suspiciously muggleborn, even if the burning, avid stare he fixated on everything was a little unnerving. No, it was rather that Harry's authority clearly had no hold over him, and he was prone to wander off in this or that direction without warning if something caught his eye. He also insisted on stopping at every bookshop for a minimum of two hours (or at least it felt like it) and to top it all off, for the life of him he didn't seem able to restrain his snide remarks about how unwanted and out-of-place Harry's friends were. He almost got into Ollivander's shop but thankfully, upon Harry's heavy insistence - bordering on begging - that it could get them caught, he relented. He looked like he had sucked on a lemon, but Harry did think he had understood, at least. 

Knockturn Alley, though… Harry was quite sure Riddle wouldn't understand why it was unwise to go there, and he would have rather kept its existence from the boy altogether. That was why, when they approached the entrance to Knockturn, Harry felt his stress rise and tried not to walk faster, instead attempting to redirect Riddle's attention elsewhere. 

"Look over there, they sell the Daily Prophet!" he said, pointing to a stand in the other direction. "We can look at what's going on in the Wizarding World." 

But of course, Riddle's eyes had already wandered toward Knockturn anyway, probably attracted by the dark aura of the passageway. 

"What's in there?" asked Riddle, turning his head as they passed it. 

"Nothing interesting," tried to say Harry as casually as possible. It probably wasn't casual enough, though, because he distinctly saw Riddle's eyes sharpen, before the boy nodded and returned to a deceptively indifferent expression. Crap. Couldn't even make it one hour and a half before pointing him toward the dark arts. 

The boy didn't mention it again as they wandered in the apothecary to ogle gross things in glass jars or in Sugarplum's to drool over candies. They looked hard for the big joke shop Harry remembered, but as their feet grew sore and they started to get closer to Gringotts and the end of the Alley, there was still no sign of it. 

"You're sure it was in Diagon Alley?" asked Jack, who was a little disappointed because Harry had been talking a lot about extendable ears, canary creams, or Peruvian instant-darkness powder, insisting that Wizard-Wheezes was unequivocally the better shop in Diagon. 

"I'm sure!" whined Harry, far more disappointed than any of the others could be. He remembered it so well… The store even held a sort of distant emotion in his heart, like its personal value was so great it almost bypassed the block in his memories. 

"Maybe it closed," said Amy, breaking Harry's heart. 

"No… It couldn't have…"

"Look!" suddenly exclaimed Billy, grabbing his arm. "The Magical Menagerie!"

Harry let himself be dragged into the shop despite his despondency. He didn't have clear memories of it, but it did seem as stuffy as before, with its cages piled up to the ceiling and its assaulting smell. The ring of the bell that hung on the door was almost inaudible amongst the ruckus of growls, hoots, scratching and croaks. 

Until, after the door closed behind the group, everything stopped. At once, all the animals fell deadly silent. 

Harry felt a shiver run up his spine, sharing a freaked-out glance with Billy. 

The voice of a woman came from the back of the shop. "Well, that's unusual." 

The bulky saleswoman approached, peering curiously into the cages as she went. All the animals, from the rats to the kneazles, were completely still. 

Harry had the absurd, eerie feeling that they were all looking straight at him. 

"You don't have a silencing charm with you, right, children?" asked the woman, stopping in front of them. 

"Hum… no," answered Harry. 

When he spoke, the ravens in the cage nearest to him shrieked and flew off, batting their wings furiously against the cage that trapped them. This set off the others in the Menagerie: bats, owls, cats, ferrets, snakes, all of them started giving high-pitched cries, trying to escape their cages in a panicked frenzy. The sounds were ear-shattering, and all the humans cringed away, looking at the animals in shock. 

"What the hell is that?" yelled Eric above the ruckus. 

"Out! Get out, now!" ordered the woman urgently, shooing them toward the door.  

The door slammed behind them a few seconds later, and the little group stumbled onto the pavement, sharing wide-eyed glances. 

"Okay," said Amy in a faint voice. "Not freaky at all." 

You could still hear the animals panicking inside the shop, and Harry tried to calm his pounding heart. Don't be silly. They were not looking at you. 

"So," said Eric in a voice that tried and failed to sound casual, "maybe not the best idea, then." He turned to Harry and pointed his chin toward Florean Fortescue's parlor, just across the street. "You talked about ice-cream at some point, right? We still have the trickles that woman gave us." 

"The sickles ," said Harry, still troubled. But he was starting to crave something to eat himself, if only to forget what had happened in the Menagerie. "Yeah, I could get some." He turned toward the others. "What do you thi…" 

He trailed off and stopped walking, his gaze searching around Amy, Billy and Jack. 

"Where's Riddle?" he asked, alarmed. 

The others looked around themselves, surprised but not overly concerned. 

"I don't know," said Eric. 

"I haven't seen him in a while," said Amy, musing. "Was he with us in the Menagerie?" 

No one knew. And, Harry was infuriated to admit, he didn't either, though his instincts were saying that no, he hadn't been. Crap! thought Harry. You were supposed to keep an eye on him! 

Because he had the dreadful feeling that he knew where the boy had gone. 

"Here, take them," he said, fishing the coins in his pockets and putting them in Amy's hands. He pointed toward the Ice Cream Parlor. "Go buy some ice cream. I'll meet back with you later." 

He turned to go, stopped by the distressed protests of his friends. 

"What?" 

"Harry, wait!" 

"I thought we were supposed to stay together?" 

Billy grabbed his arm with fright. "You can't leave us alone!" he whispered harshly. "What if we say the wrong thing and we get spotted?" 

That was why Harry definitely couldn't bring them where he was going. "Don't talk to people," he said, prying Billy's finger off him. "Just buy ice-cream and stay put. Remember, each coin is a sickle. I'll be back as soon as I can." 

And he ran off toward Knockturn Alley, not knowing if he was afraid for Riddle, or of him. Distantly, he heard Eric swear: "Fucking Riddle!" 

I couldn't agree more. 

 

 

֍֍֍

 

 

Tom was dizzy with so many emotions he couldn't even name them. But chief among them was one he wasn't sure he had ever felt before: pure, true happiness. 

When Harry had told him about the Wizarding World, Tom had believed him without reserve. It was like the last piece of a puzzle had clicked together, and suddenly, it had been so obvious: of course there was a place just for them, away from the Muggles. It made so much sense. But still, a part of him had doubted — had feared, rather, that it was all a lie. 

But oh , how it hadn't been! Harry had kept his end of the Pact tenfold, and Tom could have wept at the sense of warm belonging that had flooded him as soon as he had stepped into Diagon Alley. He didn't know whose mistake or crime had put him in a Muggle's Children's Home instead of here, where he was meant to be, but surely it could be fixed. The Wizarding World must have their own way of taking care of orphans. Or maybe — he shouldn't have dared to hope, really, he shouldn't have, but he couldn't help it — maybe he had been taken from his real Wizarding family and they were here, grieving for him, searching for him… 

Several times, he had been about to reach out to the adults around them in Diagon Alley, eager to say, "I'm a wizard, I've been placed by mistake with Muggles, please help me!" But Harry's reservations, and the healthy paranoia that Tom had cultivated since his first foster family, had told him to wait and observe first. He couldn't throw himself into the arms of strangers before knowing in detail what would happen, even if these strangers were Magic like him and Harry. 

How frustrating it was, to know so little about his own world! He had wanted to sneer at Harry's little friends because of their wide eyes and gaping mouths, but inside, his reactions had been just the same. The pure shock at seeing the glasses float above the bar in the Leaky Cauldron had been drowned out by the deluge of other wondrous things they had seen after. Images that moved, tantalising books about subjects he could never have dreamed of, species that weren't even human, and, amongst all that, the people . Wizards and witches wearing majestic robes and capes, a lot of them with a wand holster at the hip. There were so many of them, when Tom had thought for so long that he was the only one, and all were behaving as if this place was completely and utterly normal. They had been born here. They weren't lost, confused and amazed by all this. 

It had sparked a flame of resentment inside Tom, despite his happiness. Because, why you and not me? 

But he would have bet these people took Magic for granted, being so used to it. Tom would never make that mistake. From his weakness, he would draw his greatest strength and he would learn this world better than any of them, find absolutely all there was to know until he wasn't only a Master of Magic, but The Master. 

He would have bought all the books in every shop if he could, but they only had six measly sickles, and he didn't know how much it was in pounds but (judging from the cost of everything here) it didn't seem to be much. Still, striding through Diagon Alley alone after having finally separated from Harry's bunch of leeches, he was already thinking up ways to circumvent his lack of funds. He could take money from the children of Wool's, or maybe he could endear himself to some booksellers. Did compulsion work on wizards? He had sometimes tried it on Harry, back when he thought the boy was hiding things from him, but it had never had any effect… 

He clenched his teeth when thinking of Harry. He had been dreaming about going to Diagon Alley together for days, and then the bastard had decided to invite his stupid "friends" with them. His Muggle friends! They didn't deserve this world! They already had their own! And most importantly, it had been supposed to be Harry and him only. Now, he had been forced to share his first visit ever with those pathetic, disrespectful globs of uselessness. 

And he hadn't missed how Harry had tried to redirect his attention away from the mysterious passage they passed some time ago. Tom wasn't a fool — he knew the Pact didn't mean Harry liked him or trusted him. He was still absurdly sentimental over Bishop's injuries, even if Bishop had brought them on himself and he was just a Muggle. No, Harry would never tell him everything, especially not things that could make Tom more powerful. 

So, when the others had continued toward Gringotts, still searching for the joke shop Harry was obsessed with, Tom slipped away quietly. He would look at everything in Diagon Alley, even the things Harry didn't want him to see. 

He stopped in front of the dark junction that branched off of Diagon Alley. It didn't seem very welcoming against the brightness of the main street. It wasn't underground, but it almost looked like it was, with the way the street was going down in a slight slope and was flanked by dreary buildings, whose two sides were practically touching at the top. He could see far less people this way, and a rusty plaque on the side announced: Knockturn Alley. 

Oh, I bet this is going to be interesting.

 

Chapter 10: Not up to safety standards

Summary:

TW: Mention of rape in this chapter.
- - -
Sorry for the long wait! Sadly, my holidays are over and I can't write as much as in the beginning. But don't worry, this story is still very much at the forefront of my mind and won't be abandoned. The updates will just be a little more spaced out. 😉

Enjoy!

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

As he walked along the meandering path of Knockturn Alley, Tom quickly understood why Harry hadn't wanted him to see this place. 

It was like a version of Diagon Alley that had gone bad. Where Diagon had been wide and lively, full of bright storefronts and innocuous shoppers, Knockturn was narrow and sinister, full of shops that didn't even seem in business with their peeling paint and their poorly lit interiors. The passersby Tom saw were sparse, often walking at a brisk pace and keeping their heads low and their hoods up as if they didn't want to be seen here. Some people lurked in the shadows of dark passageways in groups of two or three, conversing in whispers and casting wary looks around. 

This wasn't a place where you came to browse the shops with friends on a nice afternoon.  No, you came here for a precise reason, knowing exactly what you would buy or who you would meet — both options generally less than savoury, if Tom could hazard a guess. This was the place reputable people wouldn't want to be caught dead in, the place polite society would rather pretend didn't exist. 

In brief, from Tom's experience of life, it should be where interesting things were found. 

He didn't dare enter anywhere right now — this was just a reconnaissance mission — but he peered avidly through the dirty shop windows, at rusty daggers, strange tentacles plants, or jars of what seemed but couldn't really be human eyes. (Or could they?) 

Speaking of eyes, though, he did feel some on him as he wandered deeper into Knockturn Alley. Gazes were following him, some people even turning to glare or ogle at him. It was probably uncommon for a child to come here alone… the only one he had seen apart from himself was a blond boy waiting inside a shop (that openly sold poison) while a tall man with long hair who must have been his father was talking to the clerk. 

It was a little unnerving, but not enough to push Tom to turn back. His powers had given him an edge over people for too long, and the confidence that he could take on anything human was etched into his very being. Anyway, a bad neighbourhood, Magical though it may be, would never compare to the alien abominations he had escaped just last week. That fear was still throbbing in his veins several days later, keeping him awake at night, when he was all alone in his bedroom. Next to that, earthly dangers seemed ridiculously benign. 

Still, he tensed when he approached a seedy pub, some of its dubious patrons hanging out outside, smoking or drinking. The street was wider here, but he would still have to pass very close to them, so he hurried along the opposite wall. 

"Look at that," jeered a bald wizard with a greasy black beard. "If that's not a Muggle duckling that got himself lost."

"Where's your Mommy, little one?" laughed one of his companions.  

Tom couldn't stop himself from turning a glare at them, but he otherwise kept walking. No use engaging with these people. 

"He's a pretty one," said a large, brutish-looking man whose robes seemed too tight for him. His voice was so deep it almost sounded like a growl. 

Tom didn't much like his contemplative tone. He ignored the men as they kept calling to him and decided to turn at the next corner. 

Despite himself, he was going so fast that he crashed into someone as he entered the small passage. He came nose to nose with a stinking old woman whose head was covered by a tattered shawl, and he jumped back with a yelp. Her eyes were entirely black, and her skin was so grey and mottled with green spots that she was obviously not human. 

She reached a bony hand toward him, emaciated lips stretching over sharp, yellow teeth. "Don't be afraid, lad," she said in a raspy voice. "Come here…" 

His power reared up and he pushed her away before he could even decide it. She stumbled backward with a surprised grunt, catching herself on the wall. Tom ran away before she could do anything else, heart beating wildly. 

He turned another corner at random and stopped to catch his breath, throwing a wary glance behind him. Now he was afraid, and it annoyed him. It wasn't his fault he had been surprised! Creatures like that shouldn't  be allowed to wander into human towns.

The area he had landed in was completely deserted, and didn't hold many shops. He huffed and started walking again, resolving to find his way back to the main Alley by another route. He wasn't about to go back the way he had just come.  

His heart slowly calmed down as he carried on, directing himself toward the main street of Knockturn and its many shops. Poisoneries and human-remaineries were quaint, but he mostly wanted to find a bookshop. Assuredly, the books of this area held more daring research and lore than those of Diagon, just like you found more real-world information on the dark corners of the internet rather than in official classrooms. 

He was so set on returning to the long, meandering Alley that he almost missed it. He stopped in his tracks as soon as he saw it. 

Just there, behind an open door he had been about to pass, literally waited what he had been searching for. Hundreds — no, thousands —  of ancient books were piled haphazardly in a long hallway, sometimes as high as the ceiling. 

Tom hesitated. The door was just… open. Ajar, more like. But this didn't look like a shop. It had no sign, no shop window, no name… Could he go inside? 

Normally, he would have never asked himself this question, but this was Magical London. He didn't know the rules of this place, and this was a bad neighbourhood. What if trespassing brought some unforeseen consequences down on him…? 

But the books were just lying there, without even a door between them. It would be so easy to slip inside and look, to maybe snatch one quickly… 

He was taking one tentative step forward, when a deep, familiar voice startled him. "Hello there, pretty boy." 

Tom startled and whirled around. The large man from before was there, a few feet from him. Did he follow me from the pub? thought Tom with a spike of adrenaline. 

"Leave me alone," he ordered curtly. 

Maybe a normal child wouldn't have understood the way the man was looking him up and down appreciatively, but at nine years old, Tom had already lived a full life with its share of bad encounters. He knew exactly what this man was about, and he would have none of it. 

The man let out a growling laugh. "Spirited," he said, taking a step forward. "I like that." 

He really was huge, his bulking muscles enhanced by his beastly features. Matted grey hair and yellow nails so tough they looked like claws completed his air of wild danger. Tom refused to show fear by stepping back — showing fear was always a mistake — but internally, he wavered. He had never used his powers on such an adversary. 

What suddenly drenched him in cold dread, though, was something he had failed to consider before his eyes caught the wand holster at the man's belt. 

Yes, his powers had always given him an edge over Muggles. But now, he was amongst Wizards

"I burnt the face off the last person who tried to rape me," he warned darkly. This was only a slight exaggeration. 

The open door was still a few meters away from him. He could barricade himself behind it, seek protection from the house's owner if they were home — but who knew what kind of person they could be? Over the years, Tom had learnt the hard way that adults were just as likely to betray you than to help you, and in this area, the odds weren't in his favour. 

The beastly man laughed with delight at his threat. "Ah! Now you make it a challenge." He took one more step forward, eyes gleaming. "But fucking you isn't the only thing I'll do to you, pretty boy." 

He advanced — and caught his feet in the threads of power Tom had stretched near the ground. 

He stumbled, and Tom seized the opportunity to flee along the street and down a flight of stairs on the left. Running made him feel like a prey animal, but it was the sensible thing to do; he wouldn't risk getting trapped in the house or losing in a confrontat— 

"Incarcerous!" 

Something hit his back, and then ropes surged out of nowhere and coiled themselves around his legs and torso. With a frightened cry, Tom fell forward and was about to hit the steps when the ropes suddenly wrenched him backwards. He flew through the air, and with a hoof! , crashed into the man's large chest. 

His attacker wrapped a single arm around Tom, sufficient to hold the bound boy securely against him. His smile revealing unusually pointed teeth, the man leaned his face toward Tom and took a long sniff of his neck, making the boy shiver in disgust. 

"You even smell good," growled the man. "We're gonna have fun waiting for the full moon together."

This couldn't happen to him! It wouldn't happen! Tom closed his eyes and focused on the layer of Magic always flowing just under his skin. He visualised it as something he had already done once before: the spikes of a porcupine. The man yelped and dropped him when thousands of invisible needles suddenly stabbed him where he was holding Tom. 

Tom barely landed upright and hopped away ungracefully, now trying to mold his Magic into something sharp to cut the ropes. Before he could succeed, though, a rough hand grabbed him by the throat and yanked him backwards. 

"Offensive accidental magic too?" exulted the man as he pressed Tom back against him, the tip of his hand pressing into the boy's cheek. "Oh, but you are interesting!" 

Tom porcupined himself once more, but to his dismay, this time it didn't have any effect on the man. His attacker hoisted him up and growled: "Now, time to get you to your new home." 

A very strange sensation pressed against Tom on all sides, like the street was fading and replaced by a terribly tight tube trying to swallow them both up. He fought against his kidnapper with all his might, but to no avail… 

Until a little body crashed into them from the side, as violently as if he had jumped on them. The large man barely staggered, letting out a grunt, but the tube disappeared and the street gained back its focus. 

"YOU WORM!" suddenly roared the man, his grip painfully tight around Tom's midsection. "GIVE IT BACK!" 

Tom blinked as his eyes adjusted, and a shocked hope coursed through him when he saw who was standing a few feet from them. 

None other than Harry Childress, hair tousled and green eyes blazing at Tom's kidnapper in defiance. 

The man launched himself at the boy, but stopped in his tracks after only taking a step. 

Harry was raising his own wand straight at him. "Don't," said the boy simply. 

Tom couldn't help but smile as butterflies of pride bloomed inside his chest. Oh, Harry.  

The man faltered, but soon, Tom felt him steady himself. He turned his head and saw a savage smile stretching the man's lips, making him look like a wolf showing teeth. "You don't know how to use that, kid," he crooned with sadistic anticipation. 

Harry raised his eyebrows. The beastly man took a slow step forward, like a predator stalking prey. 

"Finite incantatum!" shouted Harry. 

A golden purple ray of light shot from the wand and right at Tom. The ropes disappeared as if they had never been there. 

Tom didn't waste a second. Taking advantage of the shock of their enemy, he seized one of the bulking arms holding him captive and bit down . He didn't go nice, he didn't go gentle. His teeth sunk into flesh like they wanted to take a mouthful and the man howled. In his surprise, his grip slackened and Tom slipped through his arms, the coppery taste of blood flooding his mouth. 

His feet hit the ground running and he dashed to Harry's side. 

"Stupefy!" shouted Harry. 

The red jet of light hit the large man dead centre in the chest. They all stopped to see what would happen, including the man. When nothing did, their attacker raised his head from his chest in dark glee. "You think that's enough to stop me, boy?" 

And he launched himself at them. 

"Run!" they both screamed at the other, stumbling in their haste to get away. 

For the second time in less than a week, Tom sprinted to save his life alongside Harry Childress. 

He was starting to think they were doing something wrong.

"Here!" shouted Harry, pointing to somewhere down the street. Tom followed him in blind faith, willing his legs to go faster. Harry was a few feet away from him already and the steps of the brute were resounding loudly behind them. Tom could almost feel the man breathing down his neck. 

Finally, Harry veered off toward a building — a narrow shop with dark curtains drawn over the window, but behind which firelight could be seen. The boy wanted them to take refuge with someone? Tom had already ruled this as a bad idea! They couldn't trust anyone here!

"Harry, no!" warned Tom, but it was already too late. 

Harry hurled himself against the door and opened it. Tom had no choice but to rush inside after him and slam the flimsy wood panel close. 

The only occupants of the room, a blond man and a short Indian woman, startled and turned with alarmed faces toward them. They had been standing very close in the middle of the room, and when the man redirected his wand toward them, Tom realised that he had actually been holding the woman at wandpoint. 

"Help!" said Harry, who either didn't notice or didn't care that they had just stumbled on a very tense scene. "A man is chasing—" 

The door of the shop banged open and the large, beastly man appeared. "Here you are!" he growled with satisfaction. "Now we're gonna…" 

His eyes caught the two people standing behind the boys and he trailed off. 

Indeed, the man's wand was now pointing right at him. "Hello," said the stranger amicably. 

 

֍֍֍

 

Harry hadn't expected to run into the beginning of a duel when he had decided to seek refuge into the shop, but this was, after all, Knockturn Alley. Whether it would be their saving grace or would plunge them into even more danger remained to be seen. 

"Oi, m'Lord, no need for that!" exclaimed Riddle's kidnapper, who was making Harry's memories itch. He held up his hand to the man threatening him. "I'm just here to smack a little sense into these two mites. They stole my wand away from me, you see." 

The handsome, middle-aged man did indeed look like a Lord with his dashing grey robes. He looked down at the wand in Harry's fist with mirth, a strand of golden hair falling on an eye blue as the cold arctic sea. "And how did this come to happen?" he asked playfully. 

Harry tightened his grip on the wand. There was something about this man that was terribly familiar, evoking a nice sensation of homecoming inside him. It was like his very presence sang to Harry… 

"They—" started the kidnapper. 

"He attacked us!" jumped to say Riddle. "He was going to take me away!" 

No, realised Harry. It wasn't the man that sang to him. It was his wand . His dark, unassuming wand that was rejoicing, whispering to him… 

"Nonsense!" came the indignant voice of the kidnapper, who was very bad at playing the innocent. "I was minding my own business when—" 

A stunning spell sent by the blond man caught him in the chest, and he toppled backwards. It made everyone startle, except the blond man, who raised his wand to look at it, frowning. 

"Strange…" he whispered. 

He shook himself quickly and directed a warm smile to the boys. "Sorry I interrupted him. But that seemed like it was going to be tedious." 

He turned toward the small, darkly-clothed Indian woman who had stayed frozen to the side all along. He smiled at her, in a way that had her flinching and Harry feeling a shiver run up his spine. When he spoke, his voice was as amicable as before, and yet colder that anything Harry had ever heard in his life. 

"I trust that you'll have what I want when I come back." 

Then he put his wand in its holster with a flourish and made his way out of the shop, ruffling Harry's hair as he passed.

 "Oh, and escort these boys safely out of Knockturn, would you?" he added to the woman as he stepped over the form of Tom’s would-be kidnapper. 

Then he disappeared out of the door, and they all stayed looking at the empty space for a few moments, the room still thrumming with the memory of the man's presence. Harry felt when he Apparated away — the wand that was still singing to him, yearning for him to come and take it, suddenly shut up. 

The woman sighed heavily, readjusting the glittering dark veil covering her head. 

"I hate Tuesdays," she grumbled. 

"Who was that man?" asked Harry eagerly. It felt vital to know, to be aware of where the wand had gone… 

The woman flicked him a dark glance. "Believe me, boy, you don't want to know." 

But I do , thought Harry. 

Riddle spoke before he could insist. "What did he want with you?" 

The woman huffed a bitter laugh. "That, you really don't want to know." 

Before they could argue, she got her wand out and started levitating the stunned kidnapper out of her shop and into the street. Harry took the time to look around the place as she did, seeing the elegant draperies hanging from the walls, the scented candles that were shining on several crystal balls, the decks of tarot cards and the divination books on the shelves. 

Riddle was looking too, and turned to stare at the woman. He followed her out into the street. "You're a medium," he said avidly. "A real one." 

She slipped him a sidelong glance, looking blasé and weary. "And you're Muggleborn," she sighed. Her eyes flicked to his clothes. "But that's not a shocking twist." 

Harry rolled his eyes, already seeing Riddle puff up his chest in indignation. Only he could get offended by a simple stating of the truth. 

"I'm not!" said the boy, looking so self-assured he might have convinced even himself. "What makes you say that?" 

"What makes me say that?" scoffed the short woman without looking at him, busy putting Tom's would-be kidnapper down against a rubbish bin on the other side of the street. "For starters, that a Wizarding child would have called me a seer, not a medium." She extended her hand toward Harry, palm up. "His wand, please." 

Harry looked down at the knobby thing, loath to part with it. He hadn't known he would be able to cast a spell until he had done so, but now he knew. He knew how easy it had been with a wand, compared to the useless training he was subjecting himself to at Wools. Without a wand, it would be three more years of trudging painfully through Magic, of being cut off from his true abilities. 

Still, he was walking over to hand it to her regretfully, when Riddle stepped up between them. "No!" said the boy worriedly. "Why do you want it? We won it fair and square!" 

The Indian woman raised a single eyebrow. "From Fenrir Greyback?" she said. "Hmm. That you managed to take it at all is impressive, I'll grant you that. But you don't want a werewolf to have a reason to hunt you down, boy." 

Riddle paled at the word. Harry, for his part, sucked in a harsh breath. 

Fenrir Greyback . That was the name of this familiar man. 

With it came a flood of snapshots, like debris left after a tide. A ginger man lying in a hospital bed with his face mauled. "He likes his steaks very rare now." Greyback sinking his teeth into a fallen girl before being thrown away by a spell. A tired, thin man with kind eyes that Harry was sure he had loved. His voice, saying sadly: "He regards it as his mission in life to bite and to contaminate as many people as possible…" 

"You okay, kid?" asked the woman. 

Harry blinked, dispelling the memories like puffs of smoke. He drew the wand back. "We'll keep it," he said somewhat savagely. This felt personal, now. He couldn't say he remembered the people he had just seen, but he knew they had been close to him and that Greyback had hurt them. 

Riddle threw him a delighted smile and straightened, looking boldly at the seer. "Yes," he proclaimed. "It's ours." 

She sighed once again, flipping a glance at the slumped form of Greyback and then at the boys. She massaged her forehead tiredly. "Even if it wasn't so dangerous, you're forgetting one thing." Her eyes met Tom's firmly. "You're both too young to own a wand."

The two boys exchanged an anxious look. 

"No we're not," asserted Riddle. "We're eleven." 

The woman snorted. "Neither of you have two digits to his age. Actually, seeing that you're Muggleborn, I don't even understand how you knew to come here. I should report you to the Ministry." 

Harry tensed, preparing himself to run again. He saw Riddle doing the same thing, but the woman groaned and lifted her hands. "Merlin's sack… Calm down. The day I report anyone to the Ministry is the day I lost all my self-respect." She eyed them keenly. "I'm curious, though. How did you know about Diagon Alley?" 

The two boys stayed silent, opposing her as a stone-faced front. 

She sighed. "Alright, alright… I don't pry into people's business unless I'm paid to." She reached out her hand again. "I still need the wand, though." 

"Well, we're not giving it," bit out Riddle. 

To back this statement, Harry slipped the wand into his pocket. He covered the bit that was sticking out with his sweatshirt. 

The woman threw them an indecipherable look. "You want to do Magic with it," she said. 

They didn't reply, and she bit her lip, throwing one more glance toward Greyback. "He'll hunt you down, you know," she said. 

The set of Riddle's shoulders was determined. "He won't know where to look," he said. "No one knows us here." 

She shook her head slowly. "I don't think you realise how dangerous he is." 

Harry stepped up. "I do," he said fiercely. "That's why I'm keeping his wand away from him." 

The woman peered into his eyes, searching for something. In the end, she threw her arms up, groaning. 

"I really hate Tuesdays!" she said as she stomped toward Greyback. 

They stayed behind, watching her kneeling next to the werewolf. She pointed her wand at his face, whispering words for a few moments. When she returned, her face was somber and disgruntled. 

"What did you do?" asked Riddle. 

She closed the door of her shop, locking it with a sweep of her wand. "I'm not good at memory charms," she grunted. "I think I managed to muddle his mind a bit. Maybe he won't know exactly who to hunt, but I wouldn't rely on it too strongly." 

Harry and Riddle shared a surprised, hopeful look. 

"Thank you!" exclaimed Harry. "You—!"

The woman cut him off with a sweep of her hand. "I didn't do it only for you. I don't want Fenrir Greyback to barge into my shop in an hour and beat me black and blue so I'll tell him where you've gone. My day is sufficiently shitty as it is, thank you very much." She started striding away energetically. "Come. Let's get you back to Diagon, and then you can get the hell out of here." 

They trotted after her, throwing one last glance at the unconscious form of Fenrir Greyback. Riddle got close to Harry, their shoulders brushing. 

"Show me the wand," he whispered, eyes glued to Harry's pocket. 

Harry glared at him. Not only had the boy disappeared without warning after Harry had expressly told them all to stay together, forcing Harry to leave his friends behind in a unfamiliar place and venture into Knockturn Alley (and even having to ask a hag for directions!), but he had somehow managed to make himself a target of Fenrir Greyback in less than an hour, forcing Harry to save him when he really, really hadn't wanted to. But would he deign to act remorseful? Ashamed? Of course not! 

"No thank you first?" griped Harry. "Or maybe a sorry?" 

Riddle stepped back like he had been slapped. Quickly, he straightened, casting Harry a miffed look. "Since you ask so nicely," he said in a haughty voice, "then yes: thank you for your intervention. Though of course I could have managed to pull through myself with a little more time…"

"More time ?" repeated Harry in outrage. "He was about to Apparate you away and you were trussed up like a ham!" 

It was Riddle's turn to glare, apparently less than happy about Harry's choice of words. "I just said thank you," he snapped. 

"But not sorry." 

"What should I say sorry for?" exclaimed Riddle, indignant. "I was the one who was attacked!" 

"By your own fault! You left us to go wander all alone, even after I told you—" 

"You were hiding things from me! I wouldn't have needed to go alone if you hadn't—"

"Oh, so it's my fault, now?!"

"Well, the Pact says you can't hide anything from me, and yet you did! So yes, it's your fau—" 

"To hell with the Pact! You don't realise what you—" 

Riddle suddenly gripped Harry's biceps hard. "What do you mean, 'to hell with the Pact'?" he asked, cheeks red with anger and a chilling fierceness gleaming in his eyes. "Don't you dare use this to go back on your word and refuse to train with me!" 

Harry pulled away sharply, feeling his anger rise to even higher levels. "Oh, of course that's all that matters!" he exclaimed, rolling his eyes. "You only ever care about what you will get, and nothing else. I swear I—" 

The voice of the woman walking in front of them cut through their argument, calm and amused: 

"How long have you two been married?" 

The boys' heads snapped toward her, both of them staggering in disgust. 

"What???" they cried in unison. 

The short woman threw them a look above her shoulder, her veil obscuring half of her face but not hiding her smirk. "Bickering like an old couple but still being there to save each other's ass? I have to admit, that's cute." 

Harry and Riddle exchanged a horrified look. 

"We're not an old couple," said Harry. "We've known each other for three months." 

The woman seemed honestly shocked. After a bit, she shook her head and turned forward again, whispering: "May the Fates protect us all." 

The two boys lapsed into silence after that, burying their need to keep arguing so as to not sound like an 'old couple'. They still spent most of the journey along the grim alleys of Knockturn glaring at each other, though. 

The woman was not taking them back by the same route Harry had come in, which meant he wouldn't be able to thank the hag who had directed him toward Riddle. He wasn't sad to avoid passing again in front of the pub and its shady patrons, though. 

"What's your name, by the way?" asked Riddle as they turned inside a dark, sheltered passage. 

"Abhikanksha Dhrish," said the woman. Behind her back, the boys shared a lost look. The seer added, musing: "Most people call me Abhika, though. I don't really know why." 

Harry smiled.

They got out of the dark passage and found themselves back in the main street of Knockturn. They could see the opening to Diagon Alley at the end, twenty meters from them. 

"And how does seeing the future work, Mrs Dhrish?" asked Riddle, trotting up next to her. 

"Why? You want a reading?" she asked dryly. 

Riddle looked nonplussed. "Well… yes," he said as if it should have been obvious. 

She reached out a hand without breaking stride. "That will be three galleons." 

Harry snickered. Riddle just arched an eyebrow. "Three galleons? Please, I saw your shop. I don't think so." 

Abhika stopped just before the invisible border where Knockturn Alley turned into Diagon, like her dark figure wasn't allowed amongst the bright shops and merry passersby. She looked down at Riddle, half-critical and half-amused. 

"You're a sharp one, aren't you?" she said. "But not enough yet to know that it's smarter not to lord it over people." 

"He's not that sharp," grumbled Harry in a low voice. 

That drew a side-glare from Riddle, before the boy offered to Abhika: "We have six sickles. Can I—" 

" We have six," interrupted Harry in a sharp voice. " You have one. We're supposed to share." 

The two boys turned to each other and an argument was about to begin again, when Abhika huffed. "Oh, alright. I'll give you a little reading for free this time. But just because I'm curious. Give me your hand." 

With a victorious smile, Riddle offered it, palm up. The seer took it delicately while Harry stepped closer, a little curious himself. She leaned over it, brushing a thumb over the lines of Riddle's hand. 

After a moment, her eyebrows rose almost to her hairline and she darted a shocked look toward Riddle. 

The boy frowned, uneasy. "What?" 

"You…" she trailed off. Lowering her eyes to peer intently at Riddle's hand again, she explained, sounding impressed: "It's rare to see a hand like this. You, my boy, will have a big impact on the world. You can say you have a destiny." 

Riddle's frown dissipated, replaced by surprise, and then a creeping pride. "A destiny?" he breathed. 

Harry looked down on Riddle's pale hand, which looked perfectly normal to him. "A positive destiny or a negative one?" he asked, a little worried. 

Abhika sent him a wry smile. "Good question. But I can't tell you this sort of thing with just a hand reading." She turned back to Riddle and her thumb followed some lines on his hand. "All I can say is that you'll be very dedicated to your goals. You'll also have a lot of conflict in your life — conflict with others, and with yourself. In all areas except one." 

"Which one?" asked Riddle, eyes gleaming. 

Her face softened as she looked at his hand, a sweet smile stretching her lips. "Your love line is strong and forthright. You'll fall in love once, early and for the rest of your life." 

Tom recoiled a little. "Fall in love ?" he said, like the word was disgusting. "I'll never fall in love!" 

Abhika rolled her eyes, still smiling. "Children," she sighed, shaking her head. 

She let go of Riddle's hand, who looked both excited and a little disappointed. "Can't you give me more details?" he asked. 

"I could," said Abhika, "but I won't. Hand reading is the most I do for children." She raised a severe eyebrow. "Even us Knockturn dwellers have our principles. Knowing too much in advance is no good, especially at such a young age." 

Riddle looked disgruntled for a moment, but then his eyes lit up and he turned to Harry, pushing him toward Abhika. "Do him, too!" he exclaimed. Abhika frowned at him and he added belatedly: "Please." 

"Hum…" hesitated Harry. "I'm not sure…" 

The idea of having his future read was making him feel a distant kind of anxiety, like he had done it before and it hadn't been good. 

But Abhika had already taken his hand, and he didn't resist it. He looked at her face with apprehension, Riddle's gaze going from her to Harry's hand with avidity. 

Harry's heart fell when he saw Abhika's features slacken in dismay. She looked up at him, eyes wide, and then looked back down at his hand like she couldn't believe what she was seeing. 

She let go of his hand a little hurriedly, taking a step back. 

I knew it, despaired Harry inside. I'm gonna die young, eaten by wolves, or something like that. 

"Well?" asked Riddle, watching Abhika in concern. 

"I…"

The way Abhika was looking at him made Harry shudder. There was confusion in her dark eyes, but also something far more worrying. 

Fear. 

Shit. It's gonna be worse than wolves, isn't it? 

"I'm sorry," she said abruptly. "I can't read this hand." 

"What?" cried Riddle, looking far more crestfallen than he had a right to be, considering it wasn't his reading. "What do you mean? Can you try his other hand?" 

But the seer was already turning away, adjusting the fall of her shawl to avoid looking at either of them. "Maybe another time," she said evasively. "I have to go back to my shop." 

"But…" protested Riddle. 

"Take care of yourselves." After a last wide-eyed look at Harry, she turned her back on them and started walking away. Before she was too far, she threw above her shoulder: "And don't take too long to go home. Greyback is going to wake up soon, and you don't want to still be here when that happens." 

They watched Knockturn Alley swallow her back. Riddle looked put out. Harry himself felt like his stomach had turned to lead. 

What could frighten a seer so much? 

"I think she saw something," said Riddle, eyes narrowed. "We should go back to her shop later to make her tell us what it was." 

There was nothing Harry wanted less in the world. Knowing him, it could very well be monstrosities from another universe, or even Death itself. 

He took Riddle by the elbow, directing him toward North Diagon Alley where he had left the others. "Come on," he said curtly. 

"Aren't you curious?" asked Riddle, falling into step beside him. "That was really strange." 

"Can't say," bit out Harry, looking straight ahead. "My whole life is really strange." 

Riddle snorted. "You have a point." 

They walked in silence for a bit, passing Madam Malkin's shop and the apothecary. Then, Riddle said softly, a touch of amazement in his voice: "Did you hear what she said for me? That I have a destiny." 

"Yeah, the world is probably doomed," said Harry sombrely. 

Riddle laughed, even though Harry couldn't say himself if it had been a joke. 

Considering the disastrous turn of this day, Harry considered it a small miracle when he saw his four friends safe and sound at a table outside Florean Fortescue's. Empty ice-cream cups were discarded on the table and they seemed to be in the middle of an intense conversation, their heads almost touching at the centre as they leaned to whisper between themselves. 

Eric saw them first and straightened, relief washing over his face. "They're back!" 

Amy, Billy and Jack turned around, a smile splitting their faces. 

"You found him!" exclaimed Amy. "You took a long time." 

Harry opened his mouth, ready to recount how Riddle had gotten embroiled with an evil werewolf as soon as he left them, but then he met the boy's eyes. Don't you dare tell them! his face was screaming. 

Normally this would have been all the more reason to do so, but something else made Harry hesitate.

His friends had already been scared when he had told them that vampires and all were real. No need to give them any more nightmare fuel. 

"He got lost," said Harry instead. 

"I—!" started Riddle, outraged. Then, Harry saw him deflate, probably realising that this version was better than the truth. He lowered his eyes, saying sulkily: "Getting lost is the only way to truly explore." 

"That's true," said Jack, cutting off Eric who was opening his mouth to make a jibe or another. "What else did you see?" 

Riddle straightened proudly, exchanging a look with Harry, and Harry sighed in advance. 

"I got read my future," declared Riddle. 

"You can do that?" asked Amy excitedly. "For real? I want to do it too!"

Riddle looked down on her disdainfully. "It would be useless on you. Your future is probably terribly bland. Unlike mine, which—" 

"Okay, guys!" exclaimed Harry, slapping the table. "Time to go." 

We have a mad werewolf after us. And I really don't want to hear any more about your freaking destiny. 

"Already?" whined Jack. "But I want to talk to a Goblin! And we haven't found your joke shop!" 

"Yeah, we wasted half an hour waiting for you here," said Eric, scowling at Riddle. "And now we gotta leave?" 

"We'll come back," promised Harry, attracting a resentful glare from Riddle. "But now, we have to go ." 

His friends grumbled and whined, but they finally got up from the table. The little group made its way toward the Leaky Cauldron, talking in hushed whispers about the wonders of the street around them. 

Of course, Riddle couldn't resist talking again about his hand reading. 

"A destiny?" repeated Billy, who seemed impressed despite himself. 

"Apparently, I will have a big impact on the world," said Riddle in a lofty voice. 

"Oh, bloody hell," moaned Eric, to which Harry could relate. 

"On the Wizarding World or the normal world?" asked Amy, perhaps hoping for damage control. 

"Well…" Riddle faltered for a moment. " The world. That's all." 

"Maybe you're gonna become Prime Minister…" theorised Jack. 

"He's not gonna become anything at all," said Eric fiercely, an edge of desperate hope in his voice. "All fortune-tellers lie. This one just told him what he wanted to hear." 

Riddle turned to him, looking offended on behalf of all the Wizarding World. "Muggle fortune-tellers lie because they have no power," he snapped. "This was a Magical seer, with a real gift. You have no idea what you're talking about." 

Eric waved a dismissing hand. "It doesn't take a genius to see that you're an egotistic, big-headed prick. She tailored her prediction to you. I could have made the same and you would have swallowed it up."

Riddle sneered. "Seeing how every word that comes out of your mouth is pure garbage, I very much doubt it." 

" You're garbage!" countered Eric. 

"What a clever comeback," sneered Riddle. "Allow me to change my mind: every word that comes out of your mouth is a spill of putrid slime, a surge of thought-vomit so foul that…" 

They continued to bicker all the way to the Leaky Cauldron (Tom-Not-Riddle smiled and waved them off as they passed) and for a good portion of the journey back to Wool's. At some point, Eric ended up shouting that Riddle would have a big impact on the world of psychiatry as the worst loony that ever lived, and Harry was forced to intervene before Riddle could out his powers to all the passersby by killing him in the middle of the street. 

The three of them got home in a dour mood, while Jack, Amy and Billy were still joyfully debriefing the day's discoveries at the back of the group. Personally, Harry was relieved to see the dull facade of the Children's Home. 

They got in as discreetly as they could, but it was getting late and no group of teenagers was there to shield them from view this time. They tip-toed in front of the secretary's desk, who was busy filling paperwork and didn't even raise her head at their approach. 

They almost thought they would get away with it, when the woman put down her pen, lifted her head calmly and landed her gaze on them.

"Lilian!" she called in a loud voice. "They're back!" 

The children froze, sharing a despairing look. For the first time, their thoughts were all on the same wavelength: 

Shit. 

 

֍֍֍

 

Mrs Cole had certainly made an impressive demonstration of her lung capacity this time, screaming for more than half an hour about "reckless, unruly children", their "obsessive resolve to be stupid" and the "severe disciplinary action" that they deserved. Billy and Amy were in tears before the end of the first ten minutes. 

They weren't the main target of the Director, though. No, she was looking particularly hard at Harry and Riddle during all this, and the word "ringleaders" even ended up getting out of her mouth. 

"I never would have thought I’d regret you two peacemaking, but if this is the result, then here I am, REGRETTING!" 

She had stabbed a finger toward Harry's face, who was himself feeling a little choked up at this point. Mrs Cole was known to be strict, but it was still hard seeing her so mad at you. "I can't believe you of all people would pull such a stunt again!" she had shouted. "Don't you remember what happened the last time you sneaked out to wander with a friend? Two went out and only ONE came back!" 

The memory of Dennis had hit like a punch to the gut, and that was when Harry's own tears had started to flow. Unbidden, the thought that Mrs Cole wasn't totally wrong had come to him. She didn't know it, but Riddle has been on the verge of never coming back himself. 

God, if that had been the case Harry would have really been sent to St Brutus, wouldn't he? 

In the end, she had unleashed a two-month sentence on them, consisting of a TV ban, a computer ban, and four additional rotations of laundry, cooking or cleaning duty per person. Furthermore, Harry and Riddle had to report to her personally each day as soon as they got back from school and write a two-page essay on the merits of obeying the rules. 

She had then left the children stagger away to get what was left of dinner, leaving Martha to pick up the pieces. 

In the dining hall, they had received a lot of curious stares, both from the screaming fit of Mrs Cole (that must have been heard by the whole street), and from their red-rimmed eyes. The stares intensified when Riddle, The Riddle, actually sat with them to eat. 

By virtue of being a psychopath, the boy was the only one unaffected by the dressing-down they had endured. Well, he was molding his face into a sad little repentant mask, but Harry could see it for what it was, and it was indeed lifted as soon as Martha went away. 

"Oh, stop winging," said the boy, throwing an exasperated look at the sniffling group. "Did she hit you? Are you dying? No, so stop acting like babies. Wasn't it worth it?" 

Riddle's words shocked Harry out of his despondency. He shared a look with his friends, and knew they were thinking the same thing. Had it been worth it? 

They had drawn the ire of Mrs Cole, it was true, and they had almost lost Riddle. But… Riddle and the others had been able to see the wonders of the Wizarding World. Harry had been reunited with a part of himself. And… 

Harry looked down to the stick poking out of his sweatshirt. Now, they had a wand

He raised his head and saw the others wipe their eyes and smile faintly. Even Eric grumbled: "Okay, maybe the freak has a point." 

Riddle didn't spare him a glance, entirely fixated on Harry. Their eyes met, and he smiled. 

"We have what we need, now," he said with relish. "And tomorrow, we train." 

 

֍֍֍

 

The moon was high in the sky, its pearly crescent-shape shining through the windows of the Children's Home. In each of their beds, separated by two doors and a long strip of hallway, both Harry and Tom were having trouble sleeping. 

Harry was tossing and turning under the covers, his hand always returning under his pillow to feel the gnarled wood of the wand hidden there. He was both elated and troubled by the memories of his reunion with the Wizarding World. It had been fantastic, of course, and had filled Harry's hollowed-out heart with a little bit of what had been missing. But he was starting to realise that it wasn't so much the places that were important, but the people in it. He felt like he had returned home, only to find it empty of loved-ones. 

Why did he have to lose his memory? Why did he have to be stranded here, in a Muggle Children's home, away from his family? Did he even have a family, or were the echoes of them he sometimes had in his dreams only wishful thinking? 

And the weirdness… God, Harry was tired of the weirdness. The pendant that rested against his chest felt more heavy tonight. How did it all connect? His circumstances, the way he felt he had known Riddle before coming here, the supernatural creatures calling him an Infringer, Death helping him put Dennis back inside his body, the menagerie animals all freaking out because of him, Abhika freaking out at his hand… it was a lot, and none of it made sense. 

And the wand? Harry brushed a finger against Greyback's wand, feeling like it was the wrong one. The way the blond man's wand had sung to him in the shop was still so clear, so vivid in his mind… It was absurd, Harry was too young to own a wand, and this man hadn't appeared to know him, but Harry could have sworn… 

… that it had been his

How it had ended up in this man's hands, how had Harry been able to have a wand at all, he had no idea. 

But all the same, he knew. 

I need to find this man , realised Harry. He's the only one with the first physical, tangible link to my past. 

He had never intended to wander into Knockturn Alley again, and even less to see Abhika, but maybe he would have to pay her a second visit after all. 

 

֍֍֍

 

Five doors down, Tom wasn't tossing and turning like his counterpart, but lying on his back, gazing at the shadows on the ceiling without seeing them. 

This day had maybe been the best day of all his life. No amount of werewolves or annoying pests the likes of Eric Whalley could taint this discovery of the World he belonged to. During all the way back and all evening, the warm fire of happiness had burned inside him, bright and unquenchable. And not only had his World been just as wondrous as he had imagined, but he had even received the confirmation of what, in the deepest part of his heart, he had always suspected. 

He wasn't like other people — not even like other wizards. He would become someone special. 

He had a Destiny

The part Abhikan… whatever had said about conflict didn't bother him. He wasn't against conflict; he even liked it, sometimes. At least his life wouldn't be boring, and anyway it wasn't like he wouldn't prevail. 

But she hadn't stopped there, had she? Her cheerful voice slipped back into his mind: "Your love line is strong and forthright. You'll fall in love once, early and for the rest of your life." 

Tom winced, revulsion rising inside him. She must have been wrong. He didn't want her to be wrong, of course, because then what if the rest was wrong too? But the idea of 'falling in love' with some random girl like any idiot… no. Just, no. He was made for better things than that. He wouldn't get pulled down by mawkish feelings and become a weak, sappy washcloth. 

His decision made, he crossed his arms and closed his eyes, ready to sleep on this good resolution. 

But, as often lately (or since Saturday, really), with the dark and the quiet came a creeping restlessness. And after today, his mind had new fodder to torment him. 

"Fucking you isn't the only thing I'll do to you, pretty boy." 

Tom clenched his hands in fists. He could still feel the foul breath of the werewolf on his neck, the phantom touch of his arms crushing his skin.  

He had been treated like a toy and, worse, handled like one. How easy it had been for Greyback to subdue him, take him. Tom had defended his pride against Harry, but the truth was, if the boy hadn't arrived just at the right moment… 

Would he have been eaten, after being defiled? Or transformed? 

Either way, what was him would have died. 

Tom rolled on his side and curled in the foetal position. He felt empty, fragile, and had the stupid, offensive urge to get up and go find the comforting arms of Harry. His brain was quite foolish, in truth. Only one embrace, and already he had grown addicted. Would the other boy even welcome him, anyway? 

No use asking himself that question, since he wouldn't go. 

Was Harry afraid, too? Did he lie awake at night, seeing the green portal open from nowhere, seeing those abominations slither out and kill the gardener with a simple touch? Tom shivered as he remembered how Harry had saved him too, that day, by pulling him away from a blurry tentacle. He could have died so easily… and after today, it seemed like the universe really wanted to make sure Tom got this message. 

Maybe he had a Destiny. Maybe he would become someone great. But right now, he was a weak, impotent child, and the future didn't matter if he couldn't even live to reach it. 

The idea of dying just like that, to flick out of existence as a candle snuffed by the wind… it was unbearable. 

Surely, Wizardkind didn't still live with this fear? They must have found a way out of Death, by now. After all, what use was Magic if you had to leave it all behind like the Muggles at the end? 

Another memory suddenly imposed itself in his mind, of Harry being dragged off screaming by those monsters on Saturday, and of the wrenching feeling of loss Tom had felt. The panic. The horror. 

That was another vulnerability. Tom had already faced the fact that, for now at least, he wasn't prepared to lose Harry. However, at the present moment the boy was just as weak as Tom, just as defenceless against attacks. If they had not taken refuge in the seer's shop, Greyback would have had them. If Harry hadn't gotten his pendant back, he would have been taken on Saturday.

Infringer , the beasts had called him. Would they come back for him? To steal him, kill him? 

Tom tightened his jaw. Like liquid metal slowly hardening into steel, a resolution formed inside his mind. 

He wouldn't let it happen. Together, they would become strong. They would become powerful. They would become invincible

And there was only one surefire way to start on that path. 

 

Immortality.

 

Notes:

By the way, guys, I re-read my previous work and found some mistakes. As I'm not a native English speaker and I have no Beta, I'm prone to make them, so don't hesitate to tell me if I use the wrong word somewhere or if something doesn't sound right! I wouldn't be offended, on the contrary. 😘

Chapter 11: Your heart's desire

Summary:

*Sneak her head in* Heeeey… Sorry I’ve been gone so long. Not what I intended at all when I started this fic, but real life wasn't kind at all, lately. I'm back on track, now. 😉

Before diving in, a round of applause for my brand new beta Trello! (Not so brand new now that I put her out of a job for 5 months, but bear with me.) She’s awesome and works only for love and insider knowledge, so give a shout out to her in the comments too!

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TW: Discussion of suicide at the end of this chapter. If you want to skip it, stop from the moment someone knocks at Tom’s door and go to the end notes for a summary. Love you ❤️
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Notes:


Last time on Where You Are Needed (because it’s been five freaking months):
After two months of fighting and Tom pushing Harry’s friend Dennis under a car, the two boys finally bonded over escaping the otherworldly monstrosities ("Warpers") that appeared after Harry’s pendant was removed. Tom saved Harry, kinda making peace with his desire to keep him close, and Harry vowed to show Tom the Wizarding World in exchange for Tom not hurting his friends anymore. They went to Diagon Alley with Harry’s muggle friends, and had an encounter with Greyback in Knockturn which ended up with a new wand and Tom being read his future by the seer Abhika Dhrish. Scared by these recent close-calls, Tom decided to find a way to immortality while Harry wonders more and more about the mysteries surrounding his life.
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(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

The July sun was implacable, crushing the city of London under its radiating heat.

Everyone who could had fled to the countryside, leaving the capital half-dead. The remaining inhabitants had taken to barricading themselves in their homes, seeking the relief of closed blinds and cooling fans. As the sidewalks were melting and the cars becoming too hot to touch with bare hands, the Wizarding World suffered comparatively little. With the protection of cooling charms, most wizards enjoyed the days of bright sunshine with no trouble, filling their time with walks around nature, portkey-trips to muggle-repelled beaches, or with improvised quidditch matches all summer around the small villages of England.

It did leave Diagon just as deserted as the rest of London, though, and the city was eerily calm.

Well, except for the backroom of some seer’s shop in Knockturn Alley.

"Colloshoo!"

"Expelliarmus!"

"Flipendo!"

Abhikanksha Dhrish groaned from the front room where she was trying to read the week’s omens.

"BOYS!" she yelled, banging so hard on the table that it made her chicken bones jump. "I SAID NO DUELING INSI—!"

The sound of crystal shattering cut through her roar. A suspicious silence fell on the whole shop.  

For fuck’s sake! Abhika got up and stormed toward the back room. She slammed open the door, and was greeted to the sight of two disheveled boys pointing at each other.

"He started it!" they said in unison.

Abhika’s eyes narrowed and she cast her favorite rebounding hex. The stinging spell hit the taller, cleverer boy before ricocheting to the smaller, scarier one. The two yelped, Tom rubbing his arm with an amazed smile. "How did you do that?"

"Do I look stupid enough to teach it to you?" Abhika groused, feeling some fondness for the boy despite herself. Of course that’s what he would ask to someone hexing him. She turned and saw the remains of the boys’s crime: fallen shards of what used to be a perfectly good crystal ball laying on the floor near a shelf. With a wand gesture, she gathered them to the trash. "Merlin’s balls! I swear for this one you’re gonna pay me back!"

The boys shared a worried glance.

"But Abhika…"

"You said it cost, like, fifty galleons!"

And the sweet, naive kids had believed her. Well, ‘sweet’… "Do I look like I care?" she snapped. She approached the small table where books were laid out haphazardly. "Weren’t you supposed to be reading? That’s the only reason I let you back in again!"

She angrily flipped the cover of a book to look at the title. Telepathic Beasts — What’s Lurking Inside Your Head? Merlin’s balls, she had told them to stop buying these monster books! Tom would soon ask her for a Dreamless Sleep potion again.

"We were reading!" whined Harry. "But then Riddle—"

"I was just saying that climate-change is the Muggles’ fault," asserted Tom woundedly. "Which is true ."

He sounded so genuinely hurt that Abhika had to push back a smirk. Such a manipulative little shit. If he didn’t end up as an actor or a politician, she would be sorely disappointed.

"You didn’t just say that, though," attacked Harry. "You said we should—!"

"For fuck’s sake, boys," sighed Abhika, "Muggles can’t affect the goddamn weather." She rubbed a tired hand over her face. "What are you gonna invent to fight over next? Whether Trolls prefer the opera or the ballet?"

Abhika ignored the indignant protests of the boys and shook her head at the applewood stick that Harry was holding. She didn’t know what she’d been thinking, lending them her great-uncle’s wand. "I’m gonna take it back," she said half to herself. "You obviously can’t be trusted with it."

Harry gripped the wand tighter, cradling it to his chest. "Oh no, Abhika, please!"

Tom’s eyes had grown wide, looking more horrified than if she had threatened to break both their legs. "You can’t do that!" he exclaimed. "Then we’ll only have one wand for two!"

Abhika crossed her arms, raising her eyebrows. "Oh, shit. That’s right! Then I should take the other one too, make it fair."

She relished in the outcry that followed. She couldn’t help herself — she liked winding them up.

But then, she met Harry’s frowning green eyes and shivered. The boy looked more upset than genuinely angry, but still. Abhika never dared to really get on his bad side.

She sighed explosively, trying to hide her unease. "I’ll let you keep them, but only because I know you’d probably go at each other with fists if I didn’t."

A torrent of thanks flooded her ears, and she rolled her eyes. Merlin, when had she signed up to babysit a twisted muggleborn boy and a frightening entity masquerading as one again? Oh, right. She hadn’t.

They had basically broken down her door over the course of four months of badgering. First, ‘Harry’ had come alone, which had almost given her a heart attack. She had been prepared to flee or fight, certain that he had come to kill her because she had seen too much in his palm. But the child that couldn’t really be a child had been utterly polite, just begging to know what she had read on his hand.

She had to sit down when she realised he was telling the truth.

He truly didn’t know. He didn’t know what he was.

Not that Abhika did, herself, but she never wanted to find out. Her mind fled from the suspicions she couldn’t help but have, terrified of what they implied about the world. Things like that were to be left well enough alone, and if this… child… truly thought that’s what he was, then Abhika certainly wouldn’t be the one to contradict him.

She had made up a bullshit lie about some rare hand lines being too vague to read, and he hadn’t bought it but she would stand by what she said until the grave.

She thought it was the end of it, but then Tom had come back too, asking if she had books on magic. The boys had actually missed each other by just a few minutes, and she would have laughed if she had been less rattled by Harry’s visit.

She had sent Tom packing, of course. She wasn’t in the habit of offering charity to anyone, and she didn’t want the kid to be tempted to come back. After all, she had heard that Greyback was searching high and low for his wand, and even though he didn’t seem to remember the boys (a small miracle, she was truly lacking practice at memory charms), it was better not to risk it.

But Tom… Well, Tom was just something else, wasn’t he?

Such a cunning, driven child. He had immediately tried to manipulate her, spinning lies as easily as he was breathing, and it wasn’t even so badly done. Had he stumbled upon someone less cynical than Abhika, it would have probably worked.

His thirst for knowledge, though… it hadn’t been faked. It had been — touching, somewhat. And despite herself, Abhika had started to wonder why such a young child was left alone to roam the crooked alleys of Knockturn. What were his parents thinking? Why didn’t they buy him some books to feed his obviously starved mind?

He hadn’t wanted to tell her, and it was perhaps this fact alone that made her relent. The orphan boy, trapped amongst Muggles and isolated from his own world. It was the perfect sob story to mellow anyone, but he had refused to use it. Had tried to hide it, even, brittle pride hiding a whole life of hurt.

Abhika knew too well how pride could become your everything, when you had nothing else.

She had let him read some magical encyclopedia in a corner of the shop, telling herself that it was a one time thing.

And of course , it wasn’t a one time thing, and of course Tom had brought his terrifying friend with him next. At first coming once every few weeks, they had started to come by more and more often, arguing that they couldn’t do magic anywhere else. And Abhika was so weak-willed that she had actually let them.

Sometimes, she woke up in fright at night, realising the gravity of what she was letting happen. She was letting Tom worm himself into her life, and the poor boy had no idea how dangerous it was. How much of a target it could make him, if He were to learn about it.

What a selfish, stupid woman she was.

The boys were sitting back at the table — their table, more like — when an owl landed on the windowsill like it had been summoned by her thoughts. It tapped its beak on the glass.

Ice flooded Abhika’s veins when she recognized its grey feathers. Not now – please not now! 

Oh, this owl was perfectly ordinary. But it announced the arrival of someone far less so.

"Out," she bit out to the boys, gesturing harshly toward the door. "Now."

The boys looked up at her in dismay.

"What?" said Tom. "But Abhika…"

"Don’t Abhika me," she said. "I didn’t say you could sit back down like nothing happened, did I? You’re disturbing my work all the time — so get out!"

They weren’t reacting fast enough, so she grabbed Tom by the elbow and forced him up.

"Abhika," said the boy, "we’re sorry, really! We…"

She grabbed the books on the table and dumped them in Tom’s arms, who mercifully stopped talking under the force of the impact. "I really don’t care, Tom. Out of my shop, the both of you!"

She shooed Tom out, Harry following meekly behind. Merlin, the green-eyed boy really looked like an innocent child. It was uncanny and brought chills down her spine.

Tom whined and pleaded, but was in the end thrown out on the pavement with his companion. Abhika opened her mouth, but then she looked at Harry and hesitated. She knew what she had to say. It had gone on long enough and was putting Tom in danger.

But, was whispering a worried voice in the back of her head, isn’t he in danger with the company he keeps? What if Harry finally remembers, what if he does something to Tom and you’re not here to help?

No. Tom wasn’t her problem. She wasn’t his mother. ( He doesn’t have a mother , the traitorous voice reminded her.) For both their safety, it had to end here, and really end this time.

"Keep the wands," she said without looking into Tom’s eyes. " But don’t come back here or I will throw you out. I’m done."

She slammed the door in their faces so hard that the glass trembled. Turning away, she breathed in harshly. No time to fret over this.

She had to prepare for her guest.

 

֍֍֍

 

Outside, the two boys were staring at the door in a blasé sort of annoyance.

"Well, there goes our safe haven for another two weeks," said Riddle.

Harry sighed and took half the books from Tom, putting them in his backpack. "We’ll have to mollify her again when we come back…" he said as the other boy stored away his own books. "Any ideas?"

"I don’t know, but next time you’re the one crying."

"What?" exclaimed Harry. "Oh, come on! She’s always more receptive when you’re asking."

And also, I can’t cry on command like a goddamn sociopath.

Riddle gave him a superior little smirk. "That’s because she doesn’t like you."

Harry glared at him. The other boy seemed to derive great enjoyment from this fact, and the problem was, Harry couldn’t exactly contradict him.

Because it was true.

Harry still didn’t know what she had seen on his palm, but it must have been seriously bad for her to react like that. Oh, the woman tried to treat him normally, Harry could see that, but for some reason she could never relax around him. She didn’t banter with him as easily as with Tom, and Harry often caught her giving him long frowning looks.

If at least she’d had the decency of telling him what she…

"Hey!" He batted Riddle’s hands away from his chest, but the boy still had time to tuck Harry’s pendant under his t-shirt. "Riddle, seriously—"

He was hit in the face with a pale blue jet of light for his trouble. It was immediately absorbed without any pain, but Harry still glared fiercely."How many times have I told you that I can do it myself!"

Riddle shrugged with disinterest, casting the same Notice-Me-Not charm on himself. Harry immediately had some trouble focusing on him, and only could because he was already aware of his presence.

"I’m better at them," Riddle answered simply. "Besides, you have such a Notice-Me presence that you need all the help you can get."

Harry huffed a breath at the comment, amused despite himself. He masked it by turning away and starting to walk down the street. "Whatever," he said as Tom fell into step beside him. "Next time, let me do it."

"Hmm-hmm," said the other boy noncommittally.

Harry rolled his eyes, knowing Riddle would do no such thing. The boy was acting like some sort of deranged mother-hen since the incident with the Warpers four months ago. He had thrown himself headlong into the research about the alien beasts, seeming even more worried than Harry about the possibility that they would come back. As no answers were found in the various books of Flourish & Blotts, Tom grew more overbearing. Harry had not been able to cast his own Notice-Me-Not for weeks now (they had taken to use the spell months ago, unwilling to repeat the disaster of their first incursion in Knockturn), and Harry suspected Tom to be developing some mild obsessive-compulsive disorder with his pendant. He was always touching it like he wanted to reassure himself that it was still there, even if it would now have taken a feat to remove it from Harry’s neck, with all the sticking and unbreakable charms Tom had cast on it.

Harry couldn’t help but find this endearing, and even a little encouraging. Sure, Riddle was probably just worried about his own neck, seeing as they were together a lot of the time and probably would be if the Warpers came back, but still. It was a far cry from the boy who had come at him with a rock four months earlier. 

"Want some ice-cream at Fortescue?" offered Riddle when they reached Diagon Alley.

Harry had the weakness of hesitating for a second, looking at the bright display of flavours behind the shop’s window. It was so hot, and Florean had even added a banana/chocolate-chip taste that Harry would have sold his magic for. But…

"Not with your racket money, thanks," he said, passing in front of the parlour without stopping.

With the Notice-Me-Not in place, Harry felt rather than saw Riddle roll his eyes. "Oh, so books are okay to buy with it, but not ice creams?"

Heat went up Harry’s cheeks. Trust Riddle to always poke where it hurt the most. "That’s different," he said, flustered. "We really need the books." Before Riddle could point out the hypocrisy of this argument, he quickly added: "Anyway, I need to go home to help the others set up the party. Dennis is—"

"Saint Dennis is coming back, yes," groaned Riddle. "I’m aware. You only told me fifty times in the past week."

Harry tensed, all feelings of warmth toward the other boy forgotten. Like always, guilt took their place. Here he was again, cozying up to what was literally Dennis’s murderer. Harry had no loyalty. Give him someone that was fun to duel with and was occasionally good company, and he forgot everything else.

He picked up the pace and heard Riddle groan even louder behind him. "Oh, come on!" moaned the other boy as he jogged up to Harry. "You want me to give him a welcoming balloon?"

I want you to feel sorry for what you did.

It took his breath away, sometimes, how much he wished for it.

"…Because I can do that, if you want," continued Riddle.

Harry threw him a wild-eyed look. That would be just like him, to come taunt Dennis like that. "You don’t go near him! You understand?"

Riddle sighed like Harry was the tiring one. "Yes, yes… I’ll stay away from our precious little Dennis and pretend I don’t exist. I was joking."

Harry’s heart twisted strangely at the formulation. He didn’t want anyone to pretend like they didn’t exist. But…

"We don’t joke about this."

"You don’t joke about anything ."

The conversation died a swift death after that. They soon started walking meters apart as Riddle trailed behind to sulk and Harry hurried ahead to do the same. Out of the Leaky Cauldron, Harry was hit by the full force of the heatwave, and it wasn’t long before he was drenched in sweat as he walked along the scorching sidewalks of London. Normally he would have been fine, saved from turning into a puddle of human goo by one of Riddle’s perfectly cast cooling charms. He wasn’t about to stop and ask for one now, though.

It was really unfair, how good Riddle was at Magic. It was like his three fairies had fucked up and had given the worst attributes possible to the Devil: power, cunning, and even a cute face that mellowed most adults and made them drink up whatever crap he was spewing. Harry, for his part, was looked upon with wariness by most people from Abhika to Mrs Cole, and still couldn’t cast a simple cooling charm on himself even if he knew the theory perfectly.

Which was normal , he kept repeating to himself. At nine pushing ten, his magical core wasn’t developed enough yet to master any magic with precision or strength. Riddle was the abnormal one here.

But it was still frustrating, because Harry kind of had the feeling that he had been able to do a lot more magic before his amnesia. Some part of him kept being surprised when he cast a spell and it came out clunky.

At least, there were a few charms he had been able to get right with practice.

"Alohomora," Harry whispered to the service back door of Wool’s after checking that no passersby were around. He threw a look at Riddle, a little figure still far down the street, and went in.

He found the hall buzzing with uncharacteristic activity.

"A little higher… a little higher… That’s it!" was saying Amy.

Hands on her hips, her head was raised toward the two boys up on a stepladder at each side of the room. Between them hung a huge banner saying in cheery, painted letters: "WELLCOME BACK DENNIS!"

Harry held back a wince at the spelling error, but he couldn’t complain. He should have been here to paint the banner with his friends instead of gallivanting with Riddle. Besides, it was the intention that mattered.

And the intention certainly was there. Children and supervisors were busy hanging Christmas garlands and balloons all around the room, and a huge festive buffet had been brewing in the kitchen since yesterday. They would have cakes of all sorts, fresh juice, and music to sing on.

"I think he’ll like it," said Harry hopefully as Eric and another boy were hammering away on their ladder.

Amy startled when she heard his voice just behind her and whirled around. "Harry!" She grinned. "I didn’t think you’d be back so soon."

Harry checked that no supervisor was listening before shrugging. "She threw us out again."

"I keep telling you, she’s a wacko," Amy said. "You’d be better off practising here."

"Yeah, Harry!" Jack said, stopping on his way somewhere with arms full of party hats. "It would be more fun! At least we could watch!"

Privately, Harry tended to agree, but Riddle always insisted on going there, doubtless precisely because he didn’t want Harry’s friends to watch them.

"Let’s not talk of that here," Harry said. "What can I do to help?"

Harry spent the next two hours setting up the buffet in the dining hall and stopping balloons from being either a) stolen, b) whooshed away by the cooling fans, or c) blown up by a group of annoying twelve years-old that liked to come at them with forks. He had briefly seen Riddle go up to his room and nothing since then; the boy seemed to keep his unsettling promise to ‘pretend he didn’t exist.’ That, or public displays of happiness like a party actually made him ill.

The more the hour ticked toward Dennis’s arrival, the more anxious Harry got. Were the paper cups perfectly aligned on the table? Had Percy prepared all of Dennis’s favourite songs? Was his new room set up with every problem he could face in mind? Harry dearly wished he could be assigned the same room as his friend, but Mrs Cole said you couldn’t put two beds in it…

Billy suddenly came running into the dining hall, interrupting Harry’s thoughts. "He’s here!" shouted the ginger boy. "They’re getting him out of the van!"

Heart in his throat, Harry ran up after Billy. By the time they arrived in the hall, everyone and his neighbor was already crammed inside, staring excitedly but quietly at the door. Harry smiled in satisfaction. Beside some shuffling and the few raised voices of the younger children, everyone was following the plan: staying silent while they waited to spring the surprise on Dennis.

Due to the wide berth a lot of the children still afforded him, Harry and Billy had no trouble parting the crowd to get to the front and stand beside their friends. Harry and Amy shared a hopeful, anxious look and clasped hands. They had a lot riding on this welcoming party.

Maybe after four months in the hospital, it would be what finally made Dennis crack a real smile.

They heard Martha’s voice leek through from the outside and the anticipation in the room rose to unbearable levels. A few moments later, the Children’s Home’s door opened and Steve — Wool’s driver — appeared with a mischievous look on his face. He quickly stepped aside to hold the door for the blond boy in a wheelchair that everyone was waiting for.

The collective scream was loud enough to deafen the whole street:

"SURPRIIIIIIIIIISE!!!"

Harry, straining his vocal cords as much as everyone else, watched keenly for Dennis’ reaction as Martha wheeled him inside. The boy’s eyebrows lifted nearly to his hairline as he took in the whole scene. Harry rubbed his hands, eager to see the happiness take over his face at this display of love.

In the last few months, Dennis had become quite good at hiding what he really thought. He smiled when it was expected, sometimes forced himself to laugh, and answered swiftly when he was talked to. Martha and the other adults seemed to buy it, but Harry and his friends — who had known Dennis well before the car crash —  could see the difference. It was like a dark cloud always hovered above the previously extroverted and cheerful boy, and Harry suspected that when no one was here to see it, Dennis simply stared at the wall, mulling over depressing thoughts.

Dennis’s genuine reaction was a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it moment. When his two seconds of shock passed, the boy’s expression fell, tiredness and resignation washing over his face.

He plastered a happy smile right after, but Harry’s chest still constricted in abject disappointment. The green-eyed boy could have cried, and he stayed behind as everyone swarmed around Dennis to welcome him back.

"It wasn’t the same without you, Dennis!" was saying Marvin Dolt.

"We made your favorite cake!" proudly exclaimed Jessica Alhouns.

"Your wheelchair is so cooool!" gushed Nathan Merrick. "Can I push you?"

Dennis answered everyone with a fake, wan enthusiasm that made Harry want to hit all the people involved. Why couldn’t they notice how phony Dennis was being? Why couldn’t Dennis just be honest and admit that he was miserable?

Like his friend had heard the call-out, his and Harry’s eyes met through a gap in the crowd. For a second, Dennis’s expression faltered, but then he looked away and the fake persona was on again.

Harry felt thunder rise inside him - until his breath was knocked out of him by Eric elbowing him in the ribs. "Mate," the taller boy whispered harshly. "Stop moping and go say hello!"

"He’s—"

"I know," said Eric tiredly. "But it’s not his fault, okay?"

Harry’s heart twisted, suddenly feeling guilty for his anger. Of course Dennis’s state wasn’t his own fault — it was Harry’s. Without him, Riddle would have never pushed his friend under a moving car.

And you’re still spending time with Riddle, like nothing happened…

Feeling wretched, Harry trailed after the group that was already beginning to make way to the dining hall. Nathan Merrick was pushing Dennis at the head of the crowd, filling the best friend place Harry should have taken.

Just like they had planned, they listened to music while stuffing their faces with all sorts of cake, they played games, sang, and tactfully refrained from dancing. People were having fun, and it would have been an awesome party if the person it had been thrown for wasn’t so eager to leave.

In the end, Harry couldn’t stand to hear Dennis’s fake laughs anymore.

"Hey, Dennis," he said as a contest of exploding balloons was starting to take place, the noise drawing subtle winces from the blond boy. "You want me to show you your new room?"

"Oh, Harry, maybe lat—" started Martha, patting Dennis’s shoulder.

"Yes!" said Dennis, showing true eagerness for the first time that afternoon. Something like relief flickered in his gaze when he met Harry’s eyes. "I want to see it."

"Well, then," said Martha, starting to rise from her chair. "Let’s go."

"It’s alright, I’ll take him," said Harry before meaning to. He went around the table and got behind Dennis’s wheelchair, unlocking the breaks.

"You’re gonna be fine?" asked Martha, looking at the both of them with concern.

"Of course," answered Harray and Dennis at the same time. A little bubble of warmth grew in Harry’s chest at the like-mindedness.

"Alright…" said the supervisor. "Well, call if you need any help."

"Will do!" said Harry, already wheeling Dennis away.

Children had started to separate into little groups and didn’t pay them much mind as they crossed the dining hall. Amy, Billy and Jack were at the other end of the room, busy cheering Eric as he arm-wrestled an eleven year-old boy. The huge swing doors closed back behind Harry and Dennis as they left, muffling the sound of the music.

Dennis didn’t engage in conversation as Harry pushed him along the hallways. Like often these days, Harry felt torn between two types of guilt: guilt at the idea of talking to Dennis, because he didn’t deserve it, and guilt because he wasn’t talking to Dennis, and thus might make the other feel like Harry was ignoring him.

In the end, he chose a middle ground and apologized.

"Sorry about the party," he said meekly.

He wished he could see Dennis’s face in the silence that followed.

"Don’t worry about it," Dennis finally said, unknowingly piling more guilt on Harry.

"We wanted to—"

"I know," cut Dennis tiredly. "That’s nice."

They reached Dennis’s room without another word being exchanged.

"Here it is!" said Harry, hurrying to open the door.

To everyone’s disappointment, Dennis wasn’t allowed to stay in the blue dormitory anymore. Because of his legs, he had to be in a room suited to his needs and closer to the supervisor’s desk. He would now be sleeping on the ground floor, in a single room down a corridor from the hall.

Harry shuffled awkwardly as Dennis went in, looking impassively at his medical bed, the picture of his little sister on the side table, and his lego collection on a low shelf.

"We tried to think of everything," started Harry, "but if you need anything el—"

Dennis whirled around, surprisingly fast for someone on a wheelchair. "How good are you at magic, now?" he asked, looking intently at Harry.  

Harry blinked, taken aback. In four months, Dennis had made it quite clear that he didn’t care about Harry’s powers. That he didn’t care about anything anymore, really.

"I… huh…" To be frank, Harry had been almost glad that Dennis didn’t care about magic before. The subject was uncomfortably close to Riddle and their revolting relationship. "I’m getting better. It’s still difficult to do some spells…"

"Can you do healing spells?" Dennis asked bluntly.

Harry’s heart sank. He knew what this was about, now.

"I’ve been searching!" promised Harry earnestly, stepping forward and falling to his knees in front of Dennis. "I read about it a lot!"

That was the true reason he was accepting Riddle’s racket-money, after all. He had bought almost half the aisle on healing magic at Flourish and Blotts.

A glint shone in Dennis’s eyes. "And?"

Harry gulped, lowering his head. "It’s just… The injuries are old, now, Dennis. They…" He felt like the words were tearing out his innards as they left his mouth. "I’m not gonna lie to you, it will be like… really difficult to heal them. Healing magic is really complex. Really, really complex."

It was an understatement. Harry didn’t understand a tenth of the books he bought, and they were not even the specialized kind that healers at St Mungo’s used. Healing magic was one of the most complicated areas of magic, and necessitated years of training to do right.

Years that would solidify Dennis’s injuries and make them even more difficult to heal.

Harry chanced a look up, and immediately regretted it. Dennis's face had hardened and he was now almost glaring at Harry. "So you can't heal me, then," he said.

Harry clenched his fists, a desperate kind of feeling clawing at his chest. "I— I’m trying, I promise! I won’t give up! It’s just… It’s really—"

"Complex, right," Dennis said, mouth twisting down. He looked at Harry for a long time, before asking, softer than before: "Can’t they heal me?"

Harry frowned. "Who?"

Dennis tsked irritably. " They . The others like you. I asked Eric, and he told me you have almost everything — schools, bookshops, banks, restaurants… You must have doctors too, right?"

Harry didn’t even know Dennis had inquired about it. The fact that he had asked Eric instead of him was only a distant kind of hurt, though; Harry’s heart was too busy being torn to shreds by what he had to admit.

He suddenly loathed the Wizarding World. He wanted to spit on every one of its members.

"They won’t do it," he whispered, looking hard at the floor.

The silence that followed was short, perfunctory.

"Because I don’t have magic," said Dennis.

Harry’s eyes were prickling. "Yes," he breathed.

He was too cowardly to look up, but when Dennis talked, his voice was harder than before. "What if I pay them? What if I find a lot of money?"

Harry was shaking his head before Dennis had even finished speaking. "They… it doesn’t work like that, Dennis. The Statute of Secrecy… They would just erase your memories."

"… I see."

The disappointment in his voice was far milder than Harry’s would have been, almost distant. It still made a fresh wave of disgust roll through Harry. What could he say? My people are frightened, selfish bastards. They don’t care about you — they don’t care about any of you, and the fact that they’re letting so much suffering, death and destruction go on in the world even though they could stop it doesn’t even register to them.

They were letting children be crippled for life even though a single potion could heal them in an hour.

They were letting people risk their lives to escape dictature and war even though a portkey could have easily apparated them to safety.

They didn’t even know that global warming was threatening the entire human race because they couldn’t be bothered to keep track of what was going on outside of their bubble.

"I’m sorry," Harry said, on behalf of his world.

Dennis shrugged, the motion difficult because his neck and back were still extremely stiff. He picked up one of his legos and fiddled with it mindlessly.

"You want to play?" asked Harry softly.

"I want…" said Dennis wistfully. He fell into silence.

"Yes?" urged Harry.

Dennis seemed to wake up. He looked down at Harry, and Harry was startled by the sudden focus of his gaze, the sudden fierceness in his voice.

"I want to see Tom Riddle."

 

֍֍֍

 

Tom Riddle had three problems in his life.

One, he was a poor orphan stuck with muggles until he turned 17. (Which was actually three problems, but he preferred to bundle them together for the sake of rhetoric.)

He delighted in every second spent in the Wizarding World and had found a little solace in Abhika’s shop, but it was so precarious. The seer could just decide to throw him out on a whim like she was often wont to do, and then he had to drag himself back to Wool’s. Each time it happened, he died a little inside.

Which was a shame, because two, he still wasn’t immortal.

It turned out that Wizards hadn’t conquered death after all, except some man named Flamel who hadn’t been inclined to share his recipe, and so had done the only thing he could do next: go off the grid. Typical.

Tom was burning from the need to track the man down, but his means of action were terribly limited. He had rented an owl to send him a letter imbued with a tracking spell, but the owl had just stared at Tom dumbly. Tom had tried two others before asking the owlery clerk for help, and the man had let out an "Ahhhh" of sympathy.

"You’re trying to write to a celebrity, right? A lot of them use a mail-blocker because they receive far too many letters. Your owl won’t be able to find them. The alternative is to write to their secretary, if you really want to reach them."

Except Flamel didn’t have a secretary. He had a friend named Albus Dumbledore who could probably forward him messages, but the man was famous for being an extremely talented wizard. Tom didn’t think for one second that he could pass a tracking spell under his nose without him noticing.

Flamel was rumoured to live in France. It had a 50% chance of being a misdirection, and even if it wasn’t, Tom couldn’t search a whole country. Anyway , he had asked himself after a time, what will I do if I find him? He wasn’t strong enough yet to force the man to surrender his secrets.

Tom had switched gears and had decided to learn alchemy himself. After all, if Flamel had succeeded, why couldn’t Tom?

Right?

Well, omitting the fact that Flamel pretended to have managed to create the Philosopher’s Stone on a fluke, it turned out that alchemy was… complete nonsense?

Tom was used to understanding and mastering every subject easily, so the discovery of alchemy came somewhat as a shock. When his first textbook told him to start a diary of emotions , he balked. When the second told him to select rocks according to their ‘aura,’ he boggled. When the third told him to speak to the Moon to know the best time to experiment, he threw it away.

Alchemy was the Wizarding equivalent of homeopathy and apparently didn’t work 99% of the time. Every time it did, it seemed to be by mistake.

Tom would either find Flamel or find his own way, but he wouldn’t commune with the spirit of previous alchemists in a tub full of nundu milk. He wouldn’t.

His research would have been easier if he hadn’t been restricted to the books available in Flourish & Blotts, which, he sadly suspected, did not hold the secret to eternal life in their very common pages. He had also been thrown out of the bookshop too many times for reading without buying, so now the owners knew his face and he was forced to have money to read. At least it meant that he could keep the books afterwards, but, because of Problem Number One, his only source of income was racketing the other children of Wool’s. And as foster home kids weren’t known to be very wealthy, it didn’t amount to much.

Wizarding books were damn expensive. The exchange rate from pounds was not worth it at all.

He would keep looking for his answers, though, and if he didn’t find a way to become immortal, he would just invent it. After all, it was his very life in the balance.

His life and Harry’s — not that the other boy would show any gratitude to Tom for including him in his plans. Granted, he didn’t know of these plans yet, as Tom was doing everything possible to hide it from him, but it would be just like the boy to bitch about being offered eternal life. As evidenced by the fact that he bitched about everything else Tom did.

Third and biggest problem in Tom’s life: Harry Childress hated him.

It was really unreasonable for it to be the biggest problem in his life, but Tom couldn’t lie; it was, and it rankled. Especially because he was genuinely trying to be a good companion for the other boy.

He never hexed Eric Whalley although the boy was constantly provoking him.

He was sharing his money with Harry so the boy could buy himself books on the subjects he liked.

He wasn’t mentioning the fact that Harry kept some of his own research from him, which was a pretty big display of trust. (And fairness, as Tom was hiding his immortality goals. He hoped that one day they would be true partners and wouldn’t need to keep things from the other.)

He was looking out for Harry in every way possible — making the cord of his pendant indestructible, trying to endear him to Abhika, giving the rather naive boy advice on how to navigate life…

What more could he do?

Sometimes, Tom thought wistfully, Harry enjoyed himself enough with him to forget that he was supposed to hate him. Sometimes in the middle of one of their duels, when they stopped to catch their breath, they shared one of these gleeful, exhilarated looks that no one could fake. Sometimes, they mastered a spell after weeks of trying and Harry beamed at him. Sometimes he even snorted at Tom’s jokes.

It was pathetic how much Tom’s heart swelled in these moments.

But as soon as one of the muggle friends was mentioned — or any muggle, really, but particularly Bishop — Harry either clammed up or became hostile. Or both, like this afternoon.

Tom scowled at a particularly loud fit of laughter from children downstairs. The music was booming through the walls, and the screams of joy were constantly startling him out of his reading. He settled more comfortably on his bed and tried to go back to his volume on telepathic beasts. He was starting to doubt that the Warpers were mentioned anywhere but he still had to try to find them.

Before the reverse happened.

He couldn’t drag his mind away from Harry, though, the boy buzzing around his thoughts like an annoying fly.

He was probably downstairs, enjoying the party with Bishop and the others — enjoying it all the more because Tom wasn’t there. Tom didn’t know why this thought made him feel like someone was digging his guts out with a fork, but he really wanted it to stop.

I told you he makes you weak , whispered the sly, recurring voice in his head. You should have let him die.

Tom easily batted the voice away. He didn’t like to revisit that day in Hampstead Heath and his reasons for saving Harry. They were not very rational, and that made him uneasy. So what if they aren’t? he often thought defensively. The greatest wizards admitted that sometimes, instinct worked best. And if the cold chasm that opened in his belly each time he thought about Harry being dragged away by the Warpers was anything to go by, instinct was telling him that he was better off keeping the green-eyed boy around.

If only said green-eyed boy had been more cooperative, though…

He wouldn’t feed Harry a love potion, because yuck , and "friendship" potions didn’t exist (not that Tom wanted them to be friends , just… amicable partners). At his wits end, Tom had even tried to compel Harry with Legilimency, but it hadn’t worked very well.

You really like me , he had pushed toward the boy at regular intervals for almost all of May. You think I’m the best. You crave my company.

In the end, Harry had confronted him during recess, coming to stand before his bench in the courtyard. "Would you stop staring at me like that all the time? It feels like you’re plotting my death, and it’s frightening Billy."

Tom had rolled his eyes. "I don’t need to plot your death," he said patiently. "If I wanted you gone, I would just have to rip your necklace and the Big Bad Octopi would come and take you away."

Harry’s eyes had widened and he had clasped a protective hand over his pendant.

"Instead, I made your necklace unbreakable, though," Tom had said, because Harry seemed particularly slow that day. "Which indicates that I don’t want you gone."

Aren’t I great? You really like me. Come and sit beside me.

Harry had humpfed. "Whatever," he said, turning away to return to his muggles playing basketball a few yards away. "Stop staring, okay?"

Tom had watched him go with his teeth clenched. Maybe Harry just had a particularly thick head.

"Hey Tom!" He startled as Olivia, some silly girl from his class, suddenly popped up beside him. She giggled. "Can I sit beside you?"

"Go away!"

So, Tom had given up on compelling Harry. He had given up on killing him, and he was close to giving up on wooing him.

But he knew why he kept failing — the true reason Harry kept blowing hot and cold with him.

It was the parasitic leeches the boy called friends .

He must know, deep down, that we’re better than them , often thought Tom with a mix of frustration and bafflement. He just doesn’t want to admit it because he’s afraid to hurt their feelings .

Four whole months, and Tom still hadn’t found a way to separate him from those muggles. The boy was clinging to them like he genuinely liked them, which was absurd as they were extremely annoying and dull. Maybe he was only doing it to annoy Tom.

It was working very well.

If only he could make them disappear… If only he could make anyone who wasn’t him disappear, then Harry would have no choice but to like him…

Lost in the dreamscape his mind had conjured, it took a while for Tom to notice that someone was knocking on his door. He hurriedly slid the magic book under his pillow.

"Yes?"

He was expecting pretty much anyone besides the two boys that walked through his door. Or rather, one walked. The other rolled in.

Tom hadn’t seen Bishop since he had left him lying on the road near Hampstead Heath, but he was well aware of his condition. It was impossible not to, seeing as Harry and all of Wool’s seemed fascinated with the boy and every non-twitch of his toes.

Still, it was a shock to actually see the result of his actions for himself. Dennis Bishop, broken and wheelchair bound.

I did that , thought Tom in a mix of satisfaction and… embarrassment.

With the physical proof right in front of him, he was suddenly baffled to have gotten away with it. Though now he was less baffled about Harry’s perpetual anger. If the boy was constantly faced with this reminder of Tom’s actions, it would be difficult to forget, especially now that Bishop was back here.

Should I apologize? he wondered for the first time. Maybe it would really be the only way to get Harry off his back. Not that he would mean it, but… Well, actually he could almost mean it. His anger of five months ago felt a little foolish, now that the world had gotten incredibly bigger. Back then, he had been so enraged by Bishop’s insubordination, but now he was used to far worse. Eric Whalley insulted him to his face, Harry was hanging out with his muggles in broad daylight, and Tom never did anything.

The thought was unsettling. I really have gotten weak, haven’t I?

"This is rich," he said to Harry, who looked distinctly uncomfortable. "What happened to ‘stay away from poor, fragile little Dennis’?"

Harry glared, but it wasn’t as powerful as usual. He glanced hesitantly toward Bishop, who was staring at Tom intently.

"Ahhh…" understood Tom, turning to the crippled boy. "It’s you who wanted to come here, isn’t it? Is it some sort of therapy, a ‘face your demons and become stronger’ kind of thing?"

"Shut up!" snapped Harry.

"Can you leave us alone?" said Bishop.

For a second, Tom had the surreal thought that Bishop had actually come into his room to requisition it, but then he realised that the boy was looking at Harry.

Harry seemed just as baffled. "What? Alone with him?"

(Like Tom was the devil, or something.)

"Yes, please," said Bishop.

Usually, Tom wouldn’t have tolerated this kind of behaviour — coming into his room and just demand an audience, like Tom was supposed to give it — but he had to admit that he was curious. Besides, Harry’s anguished face was just priceless.

"But…" floundered Harry.

"I want to talk alone with him," said Bishop.

Once again, it was presumptuous, but it only aroused Tom’s interest. Bishop seemed so calm and collected… Had losing his physical backbone finally given him some mental one at last? Maybe he was here to thank Tom for it.

Harry was looking helplessly from Bishop to Tom. The two boys just looked at him in return, waiting for him to leave.

"Are you… sure?" asked Harry to Bishop.

"Yes, Harry," said the other boy patiently.

Harry looked so lost, it was kind of adorable. He hesitated for a long moment, and then, because it was the only thing he could do, he glared at Tom.

"Watch yourself," he warned.

Tom just smiled sweetly in response.

Harry grunted, looked once again for confirmation to Bishop and, finally and with great reluctance, moved to leave the room.

Before he did, though, Bishop said: "Oh, and Harry? Please don’t eavesdrop on us."

The dark-haired boy turned around, a positively sheepish look on his face. Tom couldn’t help but huff out a laugh. Of course Harry had intended to do just that.

The boy shook his head in a silent promise, and left.

Once the door closed, Bishop and Tom were left alone to stare at each other. And stare they did, since Bishop didn’t seem inclined to talk yet.

There was something different in his eyes, noticed Tom. He couldn’t pinpoint what exactly, but… it was as if the boy was duller and sharper at the same time.

He was looking at Tom with such intensity that a lesser person would have been troubled.

"Well?" ended up asking Tom, who was starting to get bored. "What does our beloved little Dennis want?"

The answer swept away all traces of his boredom. Over the dull sounds of the party in his honor, Dennis Bishop said, voice ringing clearly: 

"I want you to kill me."

Tom felt a chill pass through him at the force of the boy’s gaze. He must have misheard… There was no other possibility…

"What did you just say?" Tom asked slowly, moving to sit at the edge of his bed.

Bishop huffed and rolled his wheelchair forward. He stopped just before Tom. "You heard me."

Tom blinked. He wasn’t used to being thrown for a loop, but this one was pretty curvy.

"Oookay…" Tom said. No one had talked of dementia before, but Bishop did hit his head pretty hard in the car crash, didn’t he…? "Care to explain why you would want that?"

Bishop’s eyes held neither humor nor sympathy. "What do you care? I thought you’d be glad to finish the job."

For God’s sake. "Who do you think I am, exactly? A serial killer, eager to off anyone as soon as I have the chance?"

Bishop’s gaze was stark and fathomless. "I don’t know about anyone," he said, "but you did kill me ."

Tom looked Bishop up and down in irony. "Right. I’m not very good, am I?"

Bishop snorted. "That, or someone else is…" he whispered.

Silence fell over the room. Tom frowned, mulling over Bishop’s words, but the boy didn’t elaborate. Instead, he said calmly: "I did die, you know. They revived me, but for a time, I was dead. You murdered me."   

Tom felt uneasy at the eerie words. They held none of the rage Tom would have expected such a sentence to have, and as such, they took a moment to sink in.

Murdered.

Murdered?

Suddenly, Tom felt like he had missed a step on the stairs. He had actually killed someone without knowing it?

Sure, he had thought about it many times. Actually, he had wished on many occasions over the past months for Bishop to have died under that car. Harry would have still hated him, but at least Tom would have had the consolation of the muggle being properly gone . But to suddenly learn something like that, an eternity after the fact? Tom didn’t know what to do with it.

"Why do you want to die again, then?" he asked at last, slow and serious. "Why don’t you want revenge?"

Was this an elaborate plot to entrap Tom and catch him red-handed in the middle of a murder?

Bishop clenched his jaw. "That’s my business."

"Then I fail to see how it’s my business to kill you." — Again .

Bishop’s calm was breaking like cracks over ice. "You started it!" he said, hands gripping the armrests of his wheelchair. "So finish it!"

Tom shrugged. A strange thrill was starting to buzz in him, a sensation of power. He had killed someone and gotten away with it. For real. "I never intended to kill you," he confessed.

Bishop’s eyes widened. "By throwing me under a car?" he said shrilly.

A little laugh escaped Tom. "It wasn’t a very calculated decision," he admitted.

"Why did you do it, then?" Bishop gritted out, face full of hate.

This was more the face he had expected from his murder victim.

My murder victim , repeated Tom in his head. In a way, Bishop belonged to him now, didn’t he? His life, his death. It felt fitting, now, that the boy would come to him with his request.

"Why?!" repeated Bishop, incensed.

Tom didn’t show that the question made him uncomfortable; Instead, he smirked and leaned closer to Bishop’s face. "I’ll tell you mine if you tell me yours," he quipped.

Bishop recoiled from his proximity. He hesitated a little, chest heaving angrily, but then set his jaw. "Nevermind," he spat. "It doesn’t matter why you did it, after all, just that you did. So now, just finish it, alright?"

Tom scoffed, straightening back up. "No, not alright. Harry will have a fit if you die now, and I will come under heavy scrutiny. Besides, why do you even need to ask me?" He looked at the boy in mock-pity. "You do know that you can just slit your wrists, or swallow too much of your pills? Or, hell, throw your wheelchair down two flights of stairs. Your options are literally endless."

Even if the boy did choose one of these options, his first death would still belong to Tom, and therefore, all the deaths that followed.

Bishop glared, and Tom’s smirk widened. Oh, how sad. The boy had tears in his eyes now.

"You think I would come to you if I had options ?" bit out the boy. He stared darkly at Tom, and then looked away. "I don’t want it to look like a suicide," he admitted in a softer voice. "I don’t want it to look like a murder either. I want it to look like an accident, so people can move on quicker." He looked back toward Tom. "With your powers and your psychopathy, you’re the only one who can help me do that."

Tom sighed, tired of being labeled a psychopath by everyone. He was just intelligent enough to see emotions for the weaknesses they were and refusing to be dragged down by them. It was quite obvious really, but he seemed to be the only one to get it.

"So?" insisted Bishop, somewhat aggressively. "Will you do it? You owe me."

Tom raised an eyebrow. "I don’t owe you anything. And it would be a huge hassle to plot your murder. So, no. I won’t do it."

Bishop took a sharp breath, distress obvious on his face. Tom smiled, relishing in his hold over the boy. Now that he thought about it, it would be far more amusing to force Bishop to live when he didn’t want to, a just retribution for the annoyance he was causing Tom. It would even allow him to avoid Harry’s ire — his magical companion would definitely smell something rotten if his precious Dennis died just after a conversation with Tom.

"You can leave now," said Tom. He put a hand over his heart, faking concern. "Oh, do you need me to open the door for you? Maybe you can’t reach the handle in your condition."

If looks could kill, Bishop would have been avenged by now. But Tom could feel nothing but superiority and vindication. The boy was a mere muggle — there was no feat of accidental magic to fear, nothing he could do against Tom. The way his cheeks glistened with tears completed the masterpiece of Tom’s creation: his crushed adversary, brought down to despair.

"If you do it, I’ll give you something in return," said Bishop. Despite his obvious distress, he did manage to speak strongly.

Tom scoffed. "What could you give me? You can’t even run errands for me," he taunted.

Bishop didn’t rise to the bait. He took a deep breath, and said, looking down at his knees: "I’ll tell you a secret. A big secret."

Tom’s attention sharpened despite himself. If there was one thing he couldn’t resist, it was secrets. What could it be? What could stupid and common Dennis Bishop possibly know?

But… no. It would be far more satisfying to torture him. "I don’t care," he lied smoothly.

"I think you do." Bishop’s eyes took a mean glint. "It’s about Harry."

Tom froze.

Did Harry confide something in Bishop that he hadn’t said to Tom? Something huge?

As much as Tom hated to admit, it was very likely. Dennis Bishop was the sun around which Harry was orbiting, while he barely deigned to give Tom the time of day. He had probably spilled all his secrets to the muggle. And for what? thought Tom with disgust and second-hand indignation. For a boy ready to betray him so easily? I was right all along; muggles can’t be trusted.

"So?" the vile little rat asked him. "What do you say?"

Tom held Bishop under his smoldering glare. This boy didn’t deserve Harry. He didn’t deserve his secrets, and he certainly didn’t deserve to live. The decision was suddenly easy.

"Agreed," Tom said.

Bishop’s shoulders sagged, the ghost of a smile coming to stretch his lips. How revolting, to be so eager to die.

"When can you do it?" asked the blond.

Tom thought quickly. He was now impatient to dispose of this garbage boy, but he couldn’t rush into this. He would have to be careful not to arouse Harry’s doubts, so Bishop’s death couldn’t happen too fast after their conversation. It was probably for the best, as Tom would need to find a way to do it that would place him above any suspicion. In this, he couldn’t afford to fail.

"After the summer holidays," decided Tom.

Bishop paled, gripping his armrests hard. "What? No, I can’t— You need to do it now! I can’t wait a month and a half."

"If I do this, I do this on my terms," Tom said in a tone that broke no arguments. "We need to let some time pass so no one suspects anything, and my plan needs to be airtight." Seeing that Bishop was ready to keep protesting, he snapped: "It’s that or nothing."

Bishop seemed to have a hard time swallowing this — literally. His jaw worked, a look of deep loathing on his face. But finally, he nodded. "Okay. But I want to be dead on the 1st of September."

This was beyond baffling for Tom. Death was the thing to be avoided at all costs, not a goal to reach as fast as possible. All sentient species on earth agreed on this; it was the first (and some would argue the only ) rule of life. But then, it was true that people like Bishop didn’t have a lot to live for…

Tom thrust his hand forward to make it official, however disgusted he was at the idea of touching the boy. "It’s a deal."

Bishop clasped his hand in a surprisingly firm handshake. Above their joined hands, Tom asked avidly: "The secret?"

Bishop was looking at him like he knew a joke Tom didn’t, and Tom almost thought the other was about to renege on their deal. But then, the blond pulled harshly on Tom’s hand, making the latter bend forward until his ear was just beside Bishop’s mouth.

In the quiet bedroom away from the booming party, whispers fell from knowing lips. Dark eyebrows rose in the purest form of shock, and in the sharing of a secret, Fate changed its plans. 

Notes:

Summary of Dennis and Tom’s conversation: Dennis asks to be killed, only explaining that he doesn’t want it to look like a suicide or murder to help his loved ones move on. He thinks Tom’s powers are the only means to attain the goal of making it look like an accident. Despite his dislike of Dennis and his total lack of empathy, Tom doesn’t want to get sucked into that can of worms, until Dennis offers to reveal a secret in exchange. A secret about Harry. They shake hands on it and Dennis whispers the secret in Tom’s ear…

If you feel like you can’t bear to live anymore, please seek help (and if at all possible, not to a psychopathic wizard child like Dennis did). I’ve been there and I promise that it can and WILL get better. ❤️

Chapter 12: Just your normal beach trip

Notes:

Hello to all the new readers and welcome back to my old ones! A big thank you for all your kudos and comments, it's really motivating. 💓

Here, have another chapter pretty quick so you'll forgive me for the 5 months hiatus 😂

Chapter Text

July came and went, but the temperatures stayed the same. The Children’s Home was like a fortress under siege, keeping its blinds closed during the day to stop the scorching rays of the sun, plunging the building into semi-darkness. Most of Wool’s charges were never far from the handful of cooling fans Percy had been able to procure at the beginning of summer, either laying on the floor watching TV or half-heartedly playing card games. Words were rarely exchanged, and chores done with dead eyes and a slow pace. The high of Dennis’s welcoming party had long disappeared, everyone now waiting desperately for the trip to the beach that, the supervisors had been promising since June, would come "soon".

After a time, Mrs Cole seemed to think that enough was enough, and she petitioned (some were saying chewed out) the Office for Children Services to fund the trip. Miraculously, it did work, and in the second week of August children were piling into a large, two level-bus for the hour-long journey to the coast.

"Come on, Harry! If we don’t hurry we’re gonna have the worst seats!" said Billy, pulling on his friend’s t-shirt. He had been practically bouncing up and down since Mrs Cole had announced the trip three days ago. When he saw what Harry was packing into his backpack, though, he made a face. "Oh no, you’re not gonna take your books with you, are you?"

"What?" complained Harry while closing the zipper on Healing Techniques — The Guide For The Self-Sufficient Wizard . "I’m just taking one of them for the road."

It had been hard to choose, but as it was risky enough to take a magic book to the beach, he couldn’t afford to take more. Realistically, anyway, he knew he wouldn’t have time to study them all.

"You’re turning into a teacher’s pet," Eric commented from the other side of the dormitory. His voice was muffled because he was halfway under his bed. "Somebody seen my swimming trunks?"

"CARSON! MALLORY! CHILDRESS! WHALLEY! STUBBS!" hollered Mrs Cole from downstairs. "IF YOU’RE NOT HERE IN TWO MINUTES WE’RE LEAVING WITHOUT YOU!"

Billy squealed and ran out of the room, leaving them both behind.

"Shit, shit, shit!" muttered Eric.

"Skinny dip?" joked Harry.

"Fuck it," said Eric. He jumped to his feet and brushed himself off hastily. "I’ll just take a boxer short. Nobody will see the difference."

Harry highly doubted that, but they were late so he just said, "Sure," and tried not to laugh.

They hurried down the stairs and to the bus parked along the curb. Mrs Cole threw them a stern gaze and ticked two more names from her list.

Inside, Eric groaned when he saw that there were no seats side-by-side left. They would have to separate.

"You could have saved us seats," hissed the tall boy to Amy when they passed her by.

In a rare show of familial bonding, the girl was seated next to her sister Alison. She turned up her nose at Eric and Harry. "We were ready thirty minutes ago and forced to wait for you the whole time, so no, I don’t think so."

Eric glared and turned toward the stairs to check the upper levels, but Amy called him back: "Billy and Jack are up there, but it’s full now. Dennis is still alone at the front though."

Eric and Harry exchanged a glance. "Go with him," Harry said. "I’ll find another seat."

He needed to make use of the trip to research, and he didn’t want to do it next to Dennis. Today, his friend should think of something else than his crippled legs. That, and Harry preferred not to give him any false hope.

Eric narrowed his eyes, but then shrugged and tried to make his way forward through the crowd still up in the aisle. The supervisors were trying to organize the chaos, but were only marginally succeeding.

Harry went back to plop down next to Archie Preston, a 15 year-old who was always alone and listening to music. The boy wasn’t frightened by Harry, and wouldn’t be interested enough to spy on what he was reading.

He was getting settled when, a few rows behind, his ear perked up at Mrs Cole’s voice.

"No, Tom, I don’t care that you need a place for your bag, someone will sit beside you."

Harry felt his skin prickle, and lifted his head to find himself targeted by a bus-load of pleading eyes.

He sighed deeply. As months passed and Harry didn’t turn into a homicidal maniac, the children of Wool’s were growing less and less wary of him. Instead, they were now tentatively trying to find refuge behind him, some even approaching him to ask for mediation or pushing him to "stay friends" with Riddle. The boy was apparently less interested in crushing them under his boot now that he had Harry to focus on — a pleasure .

A pleasure Harry really would have rather not endured today. Not only did he not want Riddle to know about his healing goals (he would just deride them, for sure), but there was something off about the boy lately. These lingering looks he was throwing at Harry when he thought the other wasn’t looking… They were so subtle that Harry could almost believe he was imagining things — after all, had there been a single day since he had met Tom that the other boy hadn’t looked at him like he was plotting something?

But it didn’t feel like plotting, this time. It looked like Riddle was having an internal crisis of some sort, looking at Harry in anger at one moment, in something akin to wonder at others… The looks that sent shivers along Harry’s spine, though, were those of burning… almost hunger , he was drilling in the back of Harry’s skull. Harry felt like a mouse getting stalked by a mad scientist, and liked it even less in correlation with the mysterious reading Riddle was keeping from him.

He really hoped the drop of the other shoe wouldn’t do too much damage. But in the meantime, he rose from his seat on the bus to do his duty. He wasn’t selfish enough to let some 6 year-old sit next to Riddle for an entire hour. They would end up with a target on their back before they could finish saying ‘Zootopia.’

But that was when something happened that created a shockwave throughout the whole bus.

Dennis exclaimed: "He can come sit with me, Mrs Cole! I have more room up front."

Harry boggled. Amy turned on her seat to boggle at him. Everyone boggled at everyone.

Everyone except the adults, that was. How could Mrs Cole and the other supervisors not notice the heavy, almost choking weight of the silence that had fallen on the bus? The Director just shrugged and looked at Riddle as if to ask: "Well?"

Harry couldn’t see the boy from where he was sitting, but he could guess his answer from the gasps that sounded. A few seconds later, Riddle was getting out on the aisle and walking purposefully toward the front of the bus. The children still standing in the way hurried to flatten themselves against the seats.

For some reason, the boy felt it necessary to throw a fierce glare at Harry when he passed him by. Harry just returned a look of utter confusion.

As they departed, Harry had trouble concentrating on his book. The truth of the matter was, he was starting to fear that the other shoe would be connected to Dennis somehow.

Which was simply unacceptable, but Harry couldn’t do a lot to prevent something if he didn’t know what it was. Three weeks ago, when Dennis had insisted on speaking alone with Riddle the day of his return, Harry had assumed that he wanted to confront the boy.  Leaving them alone in Riddle’s room had been terrifying. Sure, Riddle had the Pact to hold him back, but it felt like a flimsy leach in the face of what Riddle’s anger could look like.

In the fifteen minutes Dennis had spent in the den of the snake, though, no screams were heard. Barely some rising of voices, one or twice. Dennis had come out looking… almost happy, and Riddle had been watching them both in a new light, and Harry was thoroughly worried. On the way back, when pestered to say what had happened inside, Dennis had just shrugged.

"Nothing," he had said while sliding into the elevator. "We just settled things. He promised to never do such a thing again, and we made peace."

Harry’s step had faltered, his heart jumping. "He apologized ?" he choked out.

Dennis narrowed his eyes. "I wouldn’t say that… But we understand each other, now."

Harry had pushed back a strange prickle of disappointment. Of course Riddle would never apologize…

The boy had been just as mysterious when Harry had approached him, and the others had been shocked when recounting the event, but at least Harry had thought that this was it. And mostly, it had been. Except it was the third time now that Dennis voluntarily sought out Riddle’s company. There had been one time where he had gone to the other to "get an explanation on a book," and another where he had helped him peel potatoes.

It made no sense. And, frustratingly, Harry couldn’t help but be a little miffed. Dennis was still incredibly distant — half the time, Harry felt like the boy didn’t even want to be with them — but spending time with Riddle was okay? The boy who had pushed him under a freaking car?

At least Riddle seemed just as discomfited as Harry about it, which was the only blessing here.

They arrived at the beach an hour and a half later, and Harry hurried to the front as everyone rushed out of the bus. When he got near Dennis, Martha was unstrapping his wheelchair with the help of Eric, and Riddle had already left.

Harry held his tongue due to the presence of the supervisor, but as soon as they were in the parking lot in front of the seaside and Martha left to help organize the crowd, he turned to his blond friend.

"What the hell, Dennis?" he said heatedly. "Out of a hundred children that could sit beside you, you chose Riddle?"

Dennis blinked at him calmly. "What, are you the only one allowed to spend time with him?"

Harry felt himself flush, guilt flooding him again. "I— It’s not…!"

"Harry has to spend time with him to keep everyone safe, mate," Eric cut through with a troubled expression. "But after what he’s done to you…"

Dennis rolled his eyes, like being pushed under a car and losing his legs was a trifling matter. "I’m not becoming friends with him, so you can all stop panicking already. It’s just better to stay on his good side, is all."

"Is he blackmailing you or something?" asked Amy, worried.

" No , god," huffed Dennis. "I told you, stop fretting like that. There’s literally nothing going on."

Harry wasn’t convinced, and from the look he shared with the others, they weren’t either. But there wasn’t a lot he could do when Dennis insisted that nothing was amiss.

The beach was beyond crowded, and people didn’t look kindly at the arrival of a mob of children. They quickly realized that the children weren’t the ones to fear, though — Mrs Cole, wearing a flower dress and an oversized straw hat, was barking orders and telling-offs at the top of her lungs. Harry knew she had the stamina to last the whole day, and he felt a little sorry for all the people that just wanted to nap in peace.

After they managed to push Dennis’s wheelchair on the grey sand (an exhausting job that Martha was all too happy to delegate to them), Harry wiped the sweat from his brow and took a deep breath of salty air. The beach was surrounded by dark rocks and cliffs that would have looked slightly ominous if the sun hadn’t shined so bright, and if splashing and cries of joy hadn’t resounded from all around.

For a second, Harry could feel a tingle of familiarity when he looked at the scenery, but then Eric tripped him for fun and he forgot all about it.

They laid their beach towels on the sand and undressed hurriedly, eager to get to the fresh water. Surprisingly, Riddle came to put his towel next to Harry’s. As Martha was readying herself and Dennis for the sea, Harry slid closer to the dark-haired boy.

"What did you talk about?" he whispered, jerking his head toward Dennis.

Riddle didn’t even look up from laying his towel perfectly flat against the sand. "Overthrowing the government," he deadpanned. "We have some solid ideas."

Harry glared. "Seriously. I know you find it weird too."

Riddle glanced at Dennis, humming pensively. "I may have found someone with even less survival instinct than you, yes. That’s quite a feat." Catching Harry’s dark gaze, he sighed. "I don’t know why he insists on bothering me. I think he’s got the idea that he needs to keep an eye on me — which he doesn’t . I don’t wish him harm anymore."

Harry huffed, straightening. "Well, I hope so. You certainly did enough already."

Riddle raised his head, their eyes caught, and Harry saw the strangest look fleet through Riddle’s gaze. For a second, it almost looked like…

Can it really be regret? said the voice of hope in his head. Guilt?

 Whatever it was, it smoothed over fast.

Eric knocked Harry on the shoulder. "Come on, mate! The last in the water is a pussy!"

"I told you I never want to hear such language!" scolded Martha severely. "And is that… underwear ?!"

She spoke to the empty air, as Eric was already running off to the sea with the others, laughing wildly. The young supervisor sighed and followed them with Dennis in her arms, his legs dangling limply.

Harry took a few steps toward them, and then stopped, hesitating. Usually, the sight of Dennis’s legs never failed to plunge Harry into a fit of cold anger against Riddle, so it was strange that he felt nothing of it now. Instead, his mind was replaying the strange look that had passed over the boy’s face… and he couldn’t help but feel like this was a chance. Something he should touch and prod and help bloom again.

Something that he would walk away from if he left Riddle behind now.

Harry turned around. Riddle was still clothed, standing with his backpack on and already looking at Harry. Or rather frowning at the pendant now bare on Harry’s chest. "Be careful with it," he grumbled.

Harry inclined his head toward the sea. "You’re not coming?" he asked.

Tom raised his eyebrows in surprise. He threw an hesitating glance to the waves and the children playing in it. Harry could see a spark of longing on his face before it was quashed. "No," the boy said curtly. He rearranged his backpack on his shoulder and looked toward the cliffs. "I’m going to explore."

"Mrs Cole said not to go on the rocks."

Tom smirked. "Mrs Cole is busy forcing a hundred children to apply sunscreen. She’s not going to notice."

Harry huffed, half a sigh and half a laugh. Then, before he could think twice about it, he urged: "Come take a dive before you go. Everyone says it’s fun."

Guilt tugged at him. Eric had defended him earlier by saying that Harry was forced to spend time with Riddle, but here he was already, being disloyal and inviting Riddle of his own volition. And he had scolded Dennis for doing the same thing not fifteen minutes ago! But there was another, strange sort of guilt at the idea of leaving Tom behind…

The boy was tilting his head with interest. "You never swam in the sea before?"

Harry shrugged. The seaside had felt familiar for a second there, but… "If I did, I don’t remember." He grinned. "So officially, this is gonna be a first!"

A small unwitting smile was playing on Riddle’s lips. "Well, it’s cold, and full of slimy algae, sharp shells, and annoying people splashing water in your eyes. So… enjoy!"

The boy threw one last envious glance at the sea before turning around. Harry caught up to him and grabbed his arm.

"Come on!" he pleaded. "Come swim a little." He didn’t know why it felt so important that Tom didn’t deny himself this — he certainly didn’t deserve it — but Harry wasn’t one to ignore his instincts.

"I don’t want to," Riddle said reluctantly.

"Come ooooooon !" whined Harry, tugging on his arm. "Let’s race in the water!" He pointed to a red buoy fifty meters from the shoreline. "The first to get to the floaty wins!"

Tom sent him a small, bewildered smile, but there was a spark of excitement in his eyes now. Knew I just had to make it into a competition, thought Harry triumphantly.

"Alright," said Tom, glancing at the sea calculatingly. "But then you’re coming to explore with me."

That wasn’t a hard thing to agree to — one of the rare things they shared was that they both loved exploring. They had already gone through Diagon Alley’s every nook and cranny.

"Done," said Harry, glancing just once at Mrs Cole, who was indeed very busy with everyone.

Tom’s smile turned into a grin, and he went to toss his backpack onto his towel. He undressed in record time, revealing the standard dark blue swimming trunks issued by Wool’s. His skin was very pale and unblemished, apart from three raised scars in the middle of his back that Harry noticed when the boy leaned down to take off his shorts.

They were thin and relatively small — the length of a thumb each — but Harry’s mind latched onto them with curiosity. They were not in an area easily hurt, and Harry couldn’t guess what accident had caused them.

Tom straightened. "I’m going to crush you, Childress," he warned with delight.

"Ah!" scoffed Harry, readying himself to run. "I’ll be so far ahead of you, you won’t even be able to see me!"

Tom rolled his eyes. "The buoy is in plain view."

Harry pushed him hard and started running. "GO!" he screamed.

He laughed when he heard Tom launch himself behind him, yelling: "That’s CHEATING!"

Harry lost his small head-start zig-zagging around the people lounging on the beach, and Tom and him hit the shore at the same time. The waddlers and swimmers hurriedly moved aside from their path as they raced madly forward in great splashes of icy cold water.

Harry dived a fraction of a second before Tom did, and gasped blissfully at the shock in temperature. Side by side, they immediately started to swim in furious breaststrokes toward the red floaty, which was bobbing above the waves some forty meters away. Harry was giving all he had, and evidently Tom too.

His muscles were screaming and he had swallowed several mouthfuls of seawater by the time they reached the floaty. As one, they slammed their hand on it.

"I win!" yelled Tom with a huge grin.

Harry laughed wildly. "No you don’t, you cheat! It’s a draw!"

"You’re the cheat! If you didn’t start without warning me, I would have gotten here first!"

This was probably true, and Harry totally didn’t care. "No you wouldn’t!"

"Yes I would have!"

"No!"

"Yes!"

"No!"

Tom let out a roar of exasperation and jumped on Harry. The green-eyed boy was dunked unceremoniously under the water and released just after. He still had the time to get some in his nose and emerged sputtering and laughing. He retaliated, and soon they were fighting dirty, taking advantage of the fact that they were far from prying eyes to direct magically enhanced splashes of water toward their adversary.

Strangely, Harry didn’t feel angry at all but his wandless magic was reacting eagerly to his demands. He still didn’t have the fine motor control of Tom, though, and the other boy truly frightened him when he sent a tendril of power wrap itself around Harry’s ankle and pull him under. Harry yelled in fright, thinking that the Warpers had come back to take him, and breathed in seawater as he was dunked.

Riddle was actually giggling when Harry got out, but his laugh died hesitantly when he saw Harry’s ashen face.

"What—?"

"Please don’t do that again."

Harry didn’t explain himself, but understanding still bloomed on Tom’s face, and then, something extraordinary happened.

"I’m sorry," said Tom.

Don’t boggle, don’t boggle , thought Harry, boggling. Act natural. Tom actually seemed sincere, and a thrill Harry had never felt before coursed through his veins. Something dinged pleasantly in his heart, like his team had just scored an impossible basket in PE, or he had just witnessed a terrible injustice be repaired. It felt, strangely, like an accomplishment.

"It’s alright," he forced himself to answer so as to not make a big deal out of it and make Tom second guess his words. "It would have been funny, normally."

Tom relaxed, and Harry splashed some water on him, but it was effectively the end of their battle. They began to swim back leisurely until their feet could touch the ground again. Their path took them next to Amy and Eric, who were battling Nicolas and Alex, two of Harry’s dormmates from the blue dorm. Amy was on Eric’s shoulders while Nicolas was on Alex’s, and the boys unfortunately seemed to be winning.

That is, until they saw just who was watching from the side and faltered. Amy was able to push Nicolas over and her and Eric yelled in victory, but the two boys emerged from the water with scared faces and swam away without a word. Eric sent a dark glare to Tom.

"Want to do a match?" he asked the two newcomers. "No magic allowed."

Riddle tsked , smirking. "What, because it would be like fighting ants otherwise?"

Harry was ready to tell him off, but Eric gave a toothy grin. "Afraid to lose without your unfair advantage?" retorted the brawny boy.

Riddle held up his chin. "As if," he sneered. He waded to Eric and Amy, gesturing for Harry. "Get on my shoulders."

Harry and Amy shared a tired look. Riddle wanting to be on the same level as Eric wasn’t surprising — their mutual dislike was getting more and more intense as of late, and they would probably take advantage of the "play fight" to score as many dirty hits to the other as possible.

Still, Amy shrugged and so Harry went to them. He jumped on Riddle’s shoulders, grabbing at the boy’s forehead to stabilize himself. (If someone had told him six months ago that he would find himself in this position, he would have never believed it.)

The match began. Harry and Amy were laughing, genuinely trying to topple the other, but as expected, it was downstairs that the true fight was going on. Eric and Tom were attacking each other so savagely that they often threatened to overthrow their charges themselves. They were kicking shins, punching bellies, grabbing at hair and — it looked like, Harry noted worriedly — trying to gouge eyes out. There were already deep red scratches on the boys’ arms and the hateful glint in their eyes seemed to be fueling them on.

After a few minutes, the intensity was still rising higher, and Harry was actually getting so concerned that he stopped paying enough attention to Amy. The girl managed to land a solid push to his shoulders, and though he tried to grab onto Riddle’s head, he toppled backwards. His cry was swallowed by the water, but he heard Amy yelling in joy even with his ears submerged.

The girl had already jumped off Eric when Harry came out, and he spit his mouthful of saltwater on her face. She ewed and splashed him, but Harry’s attention was caught elsewhere. Eric and Tom were still fighting.

"Game’s over, Tom," he said. "We lost."

The way the boy gritted his teeth showed that he had heard him, but he kept on attacking Eric, who was giving as much as he received.

Riddle was vicious, but Eric too, and the latter actually had the height and weight advantage. Riddle wasn’t the one packing the stronger hits, and when Eric punched him square in the guts, he actually wheezed and bent in two.

"Alright, stop it, guys," said Harry, worried that Riddle would start using his powers to retaliate. He was half surprised that he hadn’t done it already. "Fight’s ove—"

Before he could finish or Tom could straighten, Eric put a hand on Tom’s head and another on his back, and pushed down.

Harry winced as the other boy was dunked. He wasn’t going to take kindly to being so thoroughly beaten…

"Eric," said Amy uncertainly after a few seconds.  

That’s when Harry noticed that Tom wasn’t coming back up. Eric still had his hands on his head, and their legs seemed to be intertwined in such a way that it prevented Tom from getting up. He was flailing under the dark and focused gaze of Eric.

" Eric ," said Harry sharply — sharper than he had ever talked to his friend. "Let him up."

Eric looked up, meeting Harry’s eyes. His own were knowing, determined, and a cold dread washed over Harry as he suddenly realised how serious the situation was.

"Eric!" cried Amy, tugging at his arm to try and make him let go. "What are you doing?"

Eric easily shrugged her off, not responding.

"Eri—!" started Amy again.

She was cut off by Eric flying backwards, propelled by the invisible force of Harry’s power. As Eric fell some two meters away, Tom shot out of the water sputtering. Harry lowered his arms, looking around them. Luckily, people were throwing each other all the time in the water. No one seemed to have noticed the sinister scene that had just played out, nor the unnatural way a boy had been sent flying.

Harry’s heart constricted when he saw Tom’s face.

It was red and shocked, a wild sort of fear still lingering in his eyes. When he pushed his wet air out of his face, Harry noticed that his hand was trembling slightly.

Shit.

"Tom—" he started.

Just as he had feared, the hurt was soon replaced by a mask of twisted fury on Riddle’s face — the lethal kind that Harry had seen just once. When Tom had been about to attack Percy after Medusa’s death.

Riddle turned toward Eric, who was coughing up water of his own after Harry’s throw. Harry jumped to catch Riddle by the shoulders.

"Wait…!"

"Let me go, Harry," hissed Riddle, who kept advancing despite Harry’s grip on him.

The dark cloud of his power was already growing around them like static before a storm.

"Riddle!" pleaded Amy, who was wading quickly beside them. "He… he was just playing, he—!"

"Shut up," cut Riddle darkly. Without even a nod or a look, he sent her flying away in the water.

Eric was watching them come, and though he still looked quite firm, a flash of worry did pass on his face. As the burly boy took a step backwards, Harry could feel the beginning of his own panic flutter in his chest.

"Riddle, wait, stop," he urged. "Think about it—"

Suddenly, it was like his hand that was holding Riddle’s arm was stabbed by a multitude of spikes. He let go with a yelp and looked at hand in dismay, but saw that it was intact.

The few seconds he had lost were sufficient for Riddle. He had already stopped a few meters from Eric, the muggle boy having backed away enough in the water that his feet didn’t seem to touch the ground anymore. The resolve on his face was beginning to crack and show real fear. He held a hand up.

"Riddle…" he started.

He didn’t finish. Suddenly, he was yanked under like a sea monster had dragged his legs, his cry swallowed by the water. The waves smoothed over as he didn’t resurface. Riddle was looking on, his back still and rigid.

"No, no, no! " muttered Harry to himself, swimming quickly toward them.

"HELP!" came the cry of Amy behind them. "HELP, HE’S DROWNING!"

Shouts of alarms came from the beach and the sharp sound of a whistle as Harry passed by Riddle and finally reached Eric’s level. He dived with open eyes and saw the terrified look of Eric who seemed to be pinned to the sea floor. He was trying to push himself up, arms and legs flailing wildly, but it wasn’t working.

Harry caught his arm and pulled, but Eric didn’t rise. Instead, the force holding him was so strong that Harry was pulled down by the movement. Harry planted his feet on the seafloor for leverage and tried to pull again, but it was like trying to raise a boulder. Harry would sooner dislocate Eric’s arms than bring him back to the surface.

Feeling every second ticking in his lungs like he was the one drowning, Harry threw a last look at Eric’s terrified face and shot out of the water. He returned to Riddle, who was watching the place where Eric was with a grimace of hate.

"Riddle — Tom , please!" said Harry, stopping in front of the boy and holding his shoulders. "Release him! He’s gonna drown!"

He could hear the shouts of Amy directing help coming from the beach, but the people that were coming were too far away still. And if they reached them and Tom still didn’t release Eric… then not only Eric would die, but magic would be revealed.

Tom didn’t listen to him, though. He wasn’t even looking at him, and Harry growled in frustration, grabbing his face between his hands and forcing eye contact. "Tom, everyone is looking," he whispered harshly, trying to appeal to the boy’s self-preservation. "People are coming! Stop this!"

Tom glowered, mouth setting in a flat line. He didn’t answer.

Eric still didn’t come out.

"Tom, you’re gonna be caught," pleaded Harry, voice getting desperate. " We’re gonna be caught. You’re exposing us!"

"Not if he dies," breathed Riddle, eyes fixed above Harry’s shoulder. "If he dies, no one can tell on me."

Harry shook him. "If he dies," he snarled, " I will tell on you."

Riddle looked back at him then, like he was shocked.

"Don’t make me do this Tom, I don’t want to," pleaded Harry. "But if you kill Eric, I swear to God that I’ll say that you drowned him with your own hands. And Amy will back me up."

He would do it, too, even if his instincts were strangely urging him to protect Tom. The boy couldn’t just kill two of his friends with impunity.

Could I bring Eric back if he dies? thought Harry wildly. Should I?

"Please, Tom," said Harry. Several men passed them by to reach the place Amy was indicating. They would get to Eric in five seconds or less. Harry’s voice cracked. "Please don’t ruin everything like this."

Something shifted in Tom’s eyes. He looked at Harry — really looked at him — and hesitation fleeted through his killing focus. Then, his face twisted in disgust and he jerked his chin harshly behind Harry.

Harry turned just in time to see two lifeguards pull Eric out of the water. The boy’s head was lolling on his shoulders, but he was sputtering, taking enormous gulps of air.

Relief hit Harry so strongly that he felt dizzy. Tears rose to his eyes as he turned to Riddle. "Thank—"

The boy was already swimming away.

 

֍֍֍

 

"What happened, Eric?" asked Mrs Cole, kneeling in front of the shivering boy on the beach. Her voice was stern, calm. Apart from her wet dress, you wouldn’t have believed the utter panic on her face as she had swam after the lifeguards to reach Eric.

Martha was rubbing a towel around Eric’s shoulders. The boy’s head was lolling on the lifeguard’s palm as the man inspected his eyes with a flashlight. Around them, a crowd comprised of strangers and children of Wool’s was standing in a circle, gaping.

"You didn’t know how to swim?" asked the lifeguard.

"All my children know how to swim," cut Mrs Cole before Eric could respond. "They take classes in school, and Eric’s marks are good."

"Perhaps it was the temperature difference," said Martha, concern plainly written over her face. "I told them to be careful, with the heat outside and the cold of the water…"

"How are you feeling, lad?" asked the lifeguard as Eric lifted his head slowly.

Harry, kneeling close beside Amy, Billy, Jack and Dennis, held his breath. Eric gulped several times, and then said in a scratchy voice: "Fine."

"Do you remember why you started drowning?"

Eric’s gaze turned right to Harry, and the green-eyed boy shivered. He didn’t know if he wanted his friend to incriminate Tom or not. Worse, he didn’t even know if he would back him up if he did. Everything was a mess of conflicting emotions in his head.

As Eric kept gazing at him, Harry felt another worry rear its head. What if Eric not only told on Tom, but revealed how the boy had drowned him?

Would people believe him?

Would the children of Wool’s back him up, finally coming forward to tell on their unnatural tormentor?

Would a hundred of concordant testimonies be enough for the adults to take an interest?

Eric looked away, to his feet and then to Mrs Cole. "I don’t know," he said at last. "There was a current, and I couldn’t get back to the surface."

Harry closed his eyes in relief.

"A current?" repeated one of the other lifeguards, confused. "There are no such currents around here…"

"You’re sure you didn’t faint?" asked the first lifeguard.

"I—" Eric shrugged, embarrassed and agitated. "I don’t know. I’m not sure."

"Did you lose consciousness?"

"No… Well… I ‘m not sure! I don’t remember."

This was apparently sufficient for Eric to be taken to a doctor, and Harry sent a guilty look at his friend as he was taken away to the aid station. Mrs Cole went with him, Martha staying behind to supervise. All the children were talking excitedly about the incident; apparently, no one had noticed that Tom Riddle had been involved. Only Alex and Nicolas were looking at Harry and Amy like they suspected something.

"It was Riddle, wasn’t it?" said Billy as soon as their little group had carried Dennis back to their towels. The ginger was clutching his breast with wide eyes like a Victorian lady.

"It was," whispered Amy. The girl was very white, and Harry noticed that she was faintly trembling. "They were fighting, and then I don’t know what came over Eric, he…"

Harry stopped listening as she recounted the events in a low voice. He was looking around for Riddle, but didn’t see him anywhere.

When he saw that the boy’s backpack was gone, he suddenly had an inkling of where he had gone.

"I’ll be back later," he said, standing up.

"Harry…!" Amy’s worried voice called him back, but he was already striding away.

He easily disappeared into the crowded beach and walked to the mess of rocks that rose into cliffs at the end. He winced several times as he advanced on the sharp stone — he should have taken his shoes — but he didn’t go back.

He didn’t know what was urging him on, exactly. Riddle and him weren’t friends, and the boy had just tried killing one of his friends for the second time. Reason said that Harry should have declared him rabid and recanted Eric’s version, admitting to Mrs Cole that it was Riddle who had tried to drown his burly friend. Magic wouldn’t even need to be talked about, and Riddle would probably be shipped to St Brutus for real.

But whether it was one or the other, both outcomes still felt wrong to Harry. The strange, inner wrong of when they had tried to frame Riddle before, but also morally wrong this time. Eric had tried to drown him first… which was as baffling as it was chilling. Harry didn’t want to focus too much on that right now, and the terrible loss of control it was making him feel. What he was focussing on was the fact that Tom had stopped . He had listened to him.

What if he hadn’t? came the cold voice of reality. What if Eric couldn’t hold his breath long enough?

Harry kept moving forward on the rocks, eyes scanning the area for a lithe figure. He was scared by how eager he was to deflect those questions, to say they didn’t matter since they didn’t come to pass.

Tom and him weren’t friends.

Harry didn’t owe him any loyalty, not after all he had done and all that he was.

Still, he couldn’t bring himself to just cast him off. Not after four months in his semi-amicable company, not after the glimpses he had gotten of a softer Tom. Tom casting his Notice-Me-Not charms for Harry, Tom giving him money for books without demanding to see what they were, Tom helping him channel his magic on spells, Tom saving his life.

Tom apologizing, remorse etched on his face when he saw that he had frightened Harry.

Harry didn’t know why his hope for Tom’s redemption felt so personal, so crucial, but the feeling was so strong that it was driving him forward like a powerful wind, impossible to resist.

The rocks were becoming higher and higher, herding him toward the sea, and Harry was beginning to second guess his assumption about where Tom might have gone. There was still no sign of the boy.

Finally, he reached the end of what was accessible. The rocks formed a high point before a sheer cliff face, the sea throwing itself so violently against it that foam was exploding meters high. Confused not to have found Riddle, Harry was still curious enough to go to the very edge of the rock to watch the wild panorama.

He gasped.

Down there, two or three meters above the waves, was an eerie, awing sight the likes of which only Tom Riddle could inspire.

The boy was floating — scratch that, he was flying , directing himself with precision in the air. Harry would have yelled if he hadn’t been too scared to startle Tom and make him fall into the powerful waves. If it happened, the boy would be crushed upon the cliff face and sent to the deep.

Tom’s goal was immediately evident. What hadn’t been visible until Harry was standing on the very edge of the rocks was a crack in the cliff face, a high and dark opening past the wall of beating waves that would have been totally out of reach without magic.

Once again, Harry felt something flicker at the edge of his memory. He felt like he had seen this cave before, like on the telly or something.

Tom finally touched ground at the mouth of the cave, and Harry shouted: "TOM!"

He didn’t think the boy would hear him above the ruckus of the sea, but Harry saw him turn around. In the distance, it felt like their eyes met.

A second later, an invisible force was taking hold of Harry’s body and his feet rose above the rock. Harry yelled in fright, trying to grapple to the empty air as he floated forward and away from the safety of the rocks. The sheer drop under him was terrifying.

As Riddle floated him down and across the fierce waves, Harry managed to relax enough to remark that the boy probably wouldn’t do that if he wasn’t sure he could get Harry on the other side. Still, it was just… rude, to take people by surprise like that! And the danger…

Harry looked down and felt a thrill despite himself at seeing his feet dangle in the air. He was flying, without even the need for a broom. Somehow, the fact that he would most certainly die if he was to be dropped into the sea was making this even more exhilarating.

He wasn’t right in the head.

Tom made Harry go down in a gentle arc and deposited him inside the cave, a few feet from himself.

"You’re insane!" immediately screeched Harry, his indignation perhaps made a little less convincing by the huge, excited grin he couldn’t wipe from his face.

Tom didn’t answer, throwing him an inscrutable look before turning and walking deeper into the cave. He cast a lumos to light his way into the darkness.

Unlike Tom, Harry was still in his swimming trunks and hadn’t taken his wand with him, so he hurried to follow the other boy. "How did you do it?" he asked, falling into step beside him.

"Feather-light charm and wingardium leviosa," Tom answered curtly.

Two first year spells to do something so incredible. Most adult wizards wouldn’t be able to levitate themselves so successfully, and for a reason: those spells were meant to be used on objects, not people. The human body always made control of magic much more complicated. Harry kinda wanted to gush, but Riddle’s tone was what held his attention in the end.

"Look, Tom, about what happened…"

Tom snorted bitterly as they kept going deeper into the cave. "Came to berate me, did you? It’s no use, I know it all already: I’m a murderous bastard, I should be locked up, I’m a psychopath and a monster…"

Harry held up his hands. "Hey, hey! No! I wanted to—"

He stopped, a strange feeling of dread suddenly falling over him. The air felt different, and his voice was echoing too much, like they were in a cathedral instead of a little cave by the sea. He looked around, and noticed with fright that Tom’s light wasn’t reaching the walls anymore.

Tom noticed it too. "Lumos maxima," he breathed in excitement.

Harry averted his eyes as the bright jet of light coalesced into a big luminescent ball. Tom made it float, and up it went. And up. And up. And up.

Tom gasped at the sight that revealed itself to them. The term cathedral wasn’t so far from the truth, as you could have fit the central room of one easily inside the cave. The ball of light was floating maybe a hundred meters from the ground and shining on glistening dark walls and beautiful stalactites. Below, a gigantic lake was licking the shores of the cave, so vast it looked like a miniature sea. Almost in the middle, a small rocky island could be seen.

"This is incredible," breathed Tom.

As he looked around in awe, Harry tried to make sense of the cold feeling that was spreading inside him. This place was indeed beautiful and majestic, so why did he instinctively fear it? Why did he want to grab Tom’s arm and march him back outside?

Tom suddenly strode ahead toward the lake, and Harry jolted. "Wait!" he cried out.

He sprinted after Riddle who, of course, wasn’t listening to him. The boy was already kneeling at the edge of the water and reaching out his hand to touch it, but Harry caught his arm just in time.

Tom looked up at him, more confused than angry. "What?" he asked.

That was a good question. Harry just had a very strong, very unexplained feeling that…

"Don’t touch the water," he said firmly.

"Why?"

Harry blinked, and in a flash so fast he wasn’t even sure it was real, his mind conjured the image of a pale, bony hand grabbing his wrist as he tried to scoop up some water into a goblet. Harry startled badly and rubbed his wrist, where he could almost feel the skeletal grip of the hand.

But Tom must have been tired of waiting for his answer. He reached down again, and though Harry yelled: "No!", he was too late to stop him. Tom’s fingers grazed the water…

… and nothing happened. The boy raised his fingers and tasted them.

"It’s salty," he said. "The cave must be connected to the sea by another tunnel."

Harry’s heart was beating like he had just missed a step. "I feel like I’ve been here before," he whispered half to himself.

Tom turned his head sharply toward him and stood up. "Really?" he asked, bewildered.

Harry nodded slowly, gazing into the depths of the dark lake. "I think terrible things happened here."

Tom’s eyes were glinting in feverish interest. "What sort of things?" he asked in a low voice.

Harry tried to wrack his brain for an answer, but could only shake his head in the end. The only clear image he had was that horrifying hand grabbing him. "I think there are people in the water," he breathed.

Tom’s head snapped to the lake and he took a step back from the edge.

" People ?" he repeated, frowning. "Like, merpeople, or…?"

"I don’t know, I… this was just a flash. I’m not sure of what I saw." He didn’t want to explain about the hand. It was like talking about it here would conjure the creature, somehow.

Frowning, Tom kneeled and pointed his wand at the water, moving the tip in elaborate swirls as he whispered an incantation. A blue flash shot from his wand and suddenly, the lake was illuminated from below, translucent as a Caribbean sea.

It was worryingly deep, but they could see nothing inside apart from some bushes of algae and the occasional flitter of white fish. As the light blinked out and the lake darkened again, Tom looked up at Harry with a puzzled look.

"Maybe…" said Harry. "Maybe this is the wrong cave…"

It wasn’t — Harry felt it in his bones. Tom narrowed his eyes, seeming to read his thoughts.

"Want to go to the island?" asked the boy. "Maybe it will spark your memories."

"I’m not going into that lake!" Harry said, stepping back from the edge.

Tom was gazing at the water in dismay. "Alright…" he said. "I could just levitate us there."

Honestly, Harry didn’t want to go to the island, by water or by air. He didn’t want to stay in this dreadful cave where he didn’t know if his shivers were caused by the cold or by the memories he felt not far from the surface of his mind.

But the island did feel important, like it held a part of Harry’s past. He felt the most fear looking at it, and so it was probably where he needed to go.

"Okay," he said, voice a little unsteady for his tastes.

Tom went first, leaving Harry anxiously waiting behind while he floated above the dark waters of the lake. Even though he had seen with his own eyes that the lake didn’t hold any pale, human-like creatures, he was still praying that Tom wouldn’t grow tired and fall in it. And even more so that he wouldn’t let Harry fall in it.

Mercifully, Tom didn’t show signs of magic strain. Harry saw his little figure land on the island, and then it was his turn to cross. The flight was smooth, rather quick, and unbelievably scary for no logical reason. When he finally landed on the island, Harry was so tense that his muscles hurt, while Tom seemed only slightly winded.

How much would it take to reach the limit of his power? thought Harry, vaguely jealous but mostly impressed. Was he born with three magical cores or what?

"Do you recognize it?" asked Tom, looking around.

As a matter of fact… Harry did not. It didn’t stop a sense of doom and grief to grow in his chest as he walked around the island. He felt Riddle’s eyes on him as he reluctantly reached the center.

He was almost surprised to find it bare, like he had expected something to be there… He crouched, fingers brushing the ground where the aura of doom was coming off the strongest — stronger, even, than the lake with the not-there creatures.

A small drop of water landed on the back of his hand, and when he sniffled, he realized in mild confusion that he was crying. He wiped his cheeks, happy to have his back to Riddle. Why was he crying? Why was he feeling so… sad?

He closed his eyes to try to calm himself. Instead, what he got was the deep voice of a man popping up in his head.

"Harry, do you remember the condition I brought you with me?"

It was gone as soon as it appeared, leaving an echo and a sensation of deep loss. Just with these few words, Harry had sensed all he had felt for this man. The unending respect, the trust… the love.

It should have been exhilarating: finally, Harry remembered something of a loved one! It was what he had been waiting for six months, now!

But the grief and horror he felt on this island was wiping away any possible joy. He had the terrible suspicion that he wouldn’t find this man anymore. That, whatever had happened in this cave, it had marked an end.

"What’s wrong?" came the alarmed voice of Riddle.

Harry opened his eyes to find the boy crouching just in front of him, hand hovering between them like he didn’t know whether to touch or not. Harry looked away, feeling exposed. Still, the grief he felt was too raw not to talk.

"He died," he said.

"Who?" asked Tom, surprisingly gentle.

That was the question, wasn’t it? Harry couldn’t even pay proper respect to this man. Because… "I don’t remember."

Tom sighed, settling in beside him. "Then maybe… don’t worry about it."

Harry scoffed. Of course Riddle would say that. "It doesn’t work that way."

Riddle sighed again, this time more annoyed. He passed a hand in his still-damp hair and said: "You complicate your life, you know. Always growing attached to people you shouldn’t."

Like you?

The response almost passed his lips. But he didn’t want to give Riddle the wrong impression. Harry wasn’t attached to him, just… weirdly invested in his moral redemption.

"Like these muggles—" started Riddle.

"Don’t go there," Harry cut him off warningly.

"Don’t go there ?" repeated Riddle indignantly, turning to face Harry. "Whalley almost killed me, in case you forgot? Do you even care?" He huffed, disgusted. "No, of course not — I bet he’s still a saint in your eyes."

Harry hid his face in his hands. He did come to Riddle to have this discussion, but… couldn’t it wait for another time? He felt so shaky right now, still unmoored by the grief he felt for that unknown man. He didn’t want to add the grief for his friend’s humanity into the mix.

"He wouldn’t have gone through with it," muttered Harry, doing everything he could to believe his own words.

Riddle grabbed Harry’s wrist and lowered his hand to force him to make eye contact. He looked incensed. "How long are you gonna stay in your fantasy-land?" he asked harshly. "Until we really kill each other?!"

"This is NOT gonna happen!" raged Harry, jerking his wrist free.

"It is!" insisted Riddle. "Don’t you see all the troubles that keep piling up since you befriended them? Muggles and wizards are not meant to be around each other! How come everyone understands this except you?"

Harry stood up, incensed in turn. "This is such bullshit! The troubles keep piling up because you put them there!"

Riddle shot to his feet, laughing bitterly. "Oh, of course it’s my fault that Whalley decided to murder me today!"

"Yes it is!" yelled Harry without really meaning to. "After all that you’ve done, it’s normal that he’s been pushed to the limit!"

Riddle recoiled, face losing all expression like a blank mask. Harry felt a prickle of regret, but wasn’t ready to recant his words. The two boys stared silently at each other.

"You’re never going to dump them, are you?" Riddle finally asked, the flatness on his voice unable to hide the bitter edge of the words.

Harry hadn’t even known it was in question. "No, Riddle," he said in exasperation. "I’m never going to ‘dump them.’ I don’t care about you silly muggle prejudice. If I have my way, we’re still gonna be friends when we’re all old and decrepit!"

Riddle’s eyes widened, and he let out a quiet, punched-out breath. Then, his mouth twisted in disgust. "I don’t even know why I bother with you."

Harry glared and turned away toward the shore. "Me neither. Let’s leave, then, and we won’t have to talk to each other anymore."

He had time to reach the edge of the water before he remembered that he was dependent on Riddle to leave the island. He winced, reluctant to turn around and see the gloating face of the other boy. He just hoped Riddle wouldn’t be petty enough to make Harry swim back to the exit. Granted, they had seen nothing in the water, but still…

Harry wasn’t hearing any footsteps, and as time dragged on, he reluctantly turned around. Riddle hadn’t moved, except to sit on a boulder nearby, arms crossed. His face as he looked at Harry wasn’t gloating, though. It was far worse.

Calculating.

Harry suddenly felt like a deer caught in a car’s headlights. His bad feeling grew as the silence did, and he was about to speak to cut it short — to say anything, really — when Riddle beat him to it.

"Bishop asked me to kill him," he said.

Some words should have been impossible to say in a casual voice. Some words were like a knife to the gut and should have been said with the appropriate emotion. Harry staggered back, his bare feet stepping into the water. "W-what?"

"I was going to refuse," said Riddle, his tone almost contrite. "But he found the words to convince me."

He was looking at Harry with the satisfied, gleaming eyes of a predator that knew he just leveled a fatal strike to his prey and now had just to watch and wait. And Harry couldn’t even deny him this pleasure; the revelation leaving him out of breath with his head scrambled and his heart shredded.

Harry didn’t even have a moment of denial to cushion the blow. Right away, so quick that it was almost a betrayal to Dennis, he believed it. It was like a puzzle clicking into place — the aloof, fake cheer of Dennis, the emptiness behind his eyes, his strange new acquaintance with Riddle.

This was worse than seeing him dying that first time. Because now Dennis wanted it. Because now, Harry was forced to face his worst fear, the one he had been pushing way for months:

That maybe, he shouldn’t have brought his friend back.

"No…" moaned Harry, holding his head between his hands. "No, Dennis…"

"We both know why, of course," said Riddle, watching Harry fall apart without a care.

Like a flame to gasoline, the comment turned Harry’s grief to rage. His head snapped up. "Yes, I KNOW WHY!" he screamed, striding toward Riddle with balled-up fists. "IT’S BECAUSE OF YOU, BECAUSE—!"

"Nooo…" cut Riddle in a leading, so-called reasonable voice. He didn’t even move from his boulder. "You know why, because you’re trying to remedy it. You think I didn’t notice your healing research?"

Harry stopped. Blinked.

"I notice a lot more things than you give me credit for, Harry," said Riddle. His gaze darkened. "Even when you try to hide them from me."

Harry wanted to spit on the boy, all the more because a part of him wasn’t only crying for Dennis here. Riddle was dashing all his hopes of redemption with his coldness, and Harry hated himself for being crushed. What kind of soft-hearted fool would hope for a psychopath to redeem himself?

"Yes!" Harry gritted out. "I’m trying to reverse your mistakes. So what?" He laughed, feeling slightly unhinged. "You think I don’t know that you’re hiding things from me too? Your secret trips to Diagon, the books you stuff under your pillow when I enter your room?"

Riddle’s confident expression wavered for a moment, before smoothing out again. "That’s not the point," he said. "The point is, you are on the right track."

Harry honestly didn’t know if he had been about to hit Riddle or cry when he stopped, caught short. He narrowed his eyes in suspicion. "What?"

Riddle smiled. "He’s depressed without his legs? Give him his legs back. Make everything as it was before. Hop! Problem’s solved. You’re on the right track. " He winced. "If only he wouldn’t be dead long before you can heal him..."

A surge of white hot rage flashed through Harry. He didn’t think, didn’t waver; he stepped up to Riddle and punched him square in the face.

The boy cried out and held up his hands to his mouth. Before he could recover, Harry had already grabbed him by the throat.

"You. Won’t. Touch him!" he growled, shaking Riddle in rhythm. "You won’t do anything to him!"

Riddle gasped for breath, shock, pain, and even a little bit of fear shining in his eyes. He didn’t try to get away, though, didn’t even try to defend himself with magic as Harry had expected. A scary kind of resolve was overshadowing all the other emotions in his dark eyes.

"Don’t… need… to ," he breathed with the little air Harry allowed him.

Harry shook him again. "What?" he said, confused.

Riddle had the gall to smirk, his lips bloodied. "Better not… hurt the one who can help you… Harry."

Harry sneered. "You’ll help me by killing my best friend?"

Something rippled under Riddle’s expression. Harry didn’t even have time to be wary before…

"Flipendo!" Riddle gritted out.

Harry’s nails caught on Riddle’s throat as he was sent flying backwards, his bare back landing painfully on the jagged rocks.

"Your best friend ," said Riddle, tone dripping with disdain. His fingers brushed his throat, and he looked down in interest as they came back bloody. "You’re so far gone… Yes, I think killing him would help you a lot."

Harry whimpered as he sat up, trying to breathe after the impact. As Eric would have put it, his back was hurting like a son of a bitch . Harry didn’t even dare to touch it, preferring to watch the wand that Riddle kept aimed at him from his spot a few meters away.

"But," said Riddle, tone suddenly light, "I think I can accomplish the same thing by helping him live!"

"What?" Harry wheezed out, arms pressed against his painful chest.

Riddle looked down at him, tilting his head. "How long do you think it’ll take before you have enough control of your magic to heal the type of injuries Bishop has? Ten years? Hmm… you’re determined, I’ll give you that. Let’s say five." He smiled, in a way that was everything but kind. "Even if I don’t help him, how many times do you think Bishop can kill himself in that time span?"

Harry felt like a hand was choking him from the inside. "I’ll stop him," he said, voice more firm than ever so he could try to make himself believe it too. "I’ll explain to him, and he’ll wait…"

Riddle hmmed doubtfully. "He doesn’t seem keen on waiting." The boy shook his head  disapprovingly. "He almost threw a temper tantrum when I told him to wait until September."

A cold sweat broke out all over Harry. "You said you’d kill him in September?!" It was in just three weeks!

Riddle lifted an appeasing hand. "Yes, I said that. But what if… I could heal him instead?"

Harry met Riddle’s eyes, the other’s gaze sparkling in mirth. The psycho was having fun toying with Harry over his best friend’s suicide. Harry felt tiny specks of pure detestation harden inside him, but at the same time… he was caught, hook, line and sinker.

"What do you mean?" he asked, like he knew Riddle wanted him to.

"Exactly what I said. We both know I’m more powerful, and have more control over my magic. I’m a very fast learner. I already took a peek at your healing books when I realized what you were doing." Riddle’s smile grew wicked. "I think I can teach myself how to fix your precious muggle in just a few months."

Harry couldn’t help it — he knew it was the other shoe, the one he had been waiting to take in the face since Dennis and Riddle had started talking — but it was too good to pass up. He straightened, a jolt of excitement coursing through his veins.

"And what do you want in exchange?" There was no doubt whatsoever that the boy was offering this to get something in return.

Riddle’s smile disappeared, consumed by the intensity that took over his face. There was something hungry and… earnest in his eyes that made a chill go up Harry’s spine.

"You won't see them again."

Harry closed his eyes, feeling like a heavy stone was dropping in his stomach. He didn’t need to ask who Riddle was talking about. I should have known , he thought in despair. What does he always ask?

The faces of Billy, Amy, Eric and Jack passed behind his eyelids.

"No…" he breathed.

"Suit yourself," said Riddle. "Then Bishop kills himself."

No…! Harry would convince him to stay alive, convince him that being a "cripple" wasn’t what his whole life was destined to be… Dennis just had to be patient, for God’s sake! People lived without arms or legs and managed to be happy, so why not him?!

It doesn’t matter why, whispered the cold voice of reality in his head. You saw how he is since he woke up. For asking Riddle like that, he has to be incredibly determined.

Harry grabbed handfuls of his hair and pulled in anguish. "Why?!" he cried out to Riddle. "Why is that all you care about? Why do you hate me so much?"

Riddle strode over to him and kneeled at his level. "Hate you?" he said, eyes wide. "You think I do this because I hate you? Harry, I want to help you!"

"By ripping all my friends away?" Harry wailed. "By forcing me to be alone?!"

Riddle reached out and tentatively put his hand on Harry’s knee. "You won’t be alone," he said fervently. "Harry, you don’t need them anymore. You have me ."

Harry hid his head against his hands. "God help me," he breathed bitterly.

The hand on his knee tightened, then withdrew. He heard Riddle stand up, and lowered his hands to look up at him.

The other boy’s face was hard and unyielding. When he talked, his sweet voice was belying in expression. 

"So, Harry. What will it be?"

Chapter 13: The trials of today

Summary:

Hey, 4 months instead of 5 this time! I’m improving!
What can I say, the next three chapters fought me tooth and nails, but I always win in the end. 😈
Little warning: I had to retcon the ages of the children because I didn't know you had to be already 11 to enter Hogwarts (I thought you could turn it during the school year). Now they are 9 instead of 8.

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TW: Still our good old discussions of suicide, but to talk *someone* out of it this time. ALSO, remember this tag? "Graphic depictions of violence"?
Well, remember it. That’s it, that’s the hint.

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Previously on Where You Are Needed:
Tom agreed to orchestrate Dennis's death for him in exchange for Dennis revealing a secret about Harry. Later, during a trip to the beach, Tom was almost drowned by Eric. Tom & Harry went to The Cave™ together, and Tom revealed his agreement with Dennis, offering Harry to heal Dennis if he abandoned his friends.

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

"He’s gonna do it?" said Amy in breathless joy. "He really said he’s gonna do it?"

Pressed in Dennis’s little room, all of Harry’s friends were eyeing him with wide eyes. None wider than Dennis himself, who was staring at Harry like he had grown a second head.

"Yes," said Harry, smiling softly to Dennis. Don’t think of the rest. Think just of that, now . "He is. He just needs a few months, Dennis, nothing more, and then you’ll be able to walk again."

"That motherfucker…" whispered Eric, reluctantly impressed.

Amy threw him a sharp look. "I hope you’re happy that you didn’t drown him, now, aren’t you?"

Eric looked away, like he had been very prone to do since they had gotten back from the beach an hour ago. "What?" he said, half-angry and half-embarrassed. "He deserved to be taken down a few pegs. Who knows, maybe that’s what put his head back into place and decided him to do right by Dennis? That’s the least he can do, after all."

Amy opened her mouth to hiss a furious reply and Harry cut her off hurriedly.

"Anyway," he said. (Eric had yet to properly explain his actions, and Harry was adamant that he would, but not now.) "This is good news, right, Dennis?" he asked, hope painful in his chest. "It will be like nothing ever happened."

He immediately regretted his words when Dennis’s face ticked and darkened. The boy’s eyes held more spark than he had seen in a long time, though. He seemed on the verge of being animated.

But of course, he was bound to ask The question.

"Why…" said Dennis doubtfully. "Why would he do it? Why would he heal me?"

The invisible hand squeezing Harry’s throat returned. It had been plaguing Harry almost non stop since leaving that horrible cave where nothing good ever happened.

"Oh," said Harry, voice a little too high to really sound casual. "Well, he… I convinced him. Like Eric said, it’s the least he can do."

Dennis’s eyebrows rose toward his hairline in the most disbelieving manner. Harry could feel the same reactions coming off of everyone in the silence that followed.

"Hmm," Amy said uncertainly.

"That’s… great?" Billy said.

Only Jack seemed oblivious. "I knew he wasn’t all that bad!" exclaimed the pudgy boy, a large smile on his face. "You are a good influence on him, Harry!"

Harry returned his smile, though he couldn’t help but grit his teeth through the bitterness rising in him like bile. "Sure…"

"Magic is awesome," gushed Jack, apparently forgetting that it was also magic that had put Dennis in his wheelchair. "Wizards should go help at the hospitals, they would be cheered like rock stars!"

"Yeah, I think that’s what they’re trying to avoid," said Harry, awkwardly scratching the back of his head.

"Well," said Eric. "If the son of a bitch is really gonna fix his… okay, no, I can’t call this a ‘mistake,’ but whatever… Then it’s time to party!" He clapped his hands. "Who’s coming to raid the kitchen with me?"

Amy and Harry shared a look, neither of them fooled by Eric’s eagerness to steer the subject away from Riddle.

"Yeah!" exclaimed Jack, oblivious.

Amy glanced at Dennis, and then shrugged, letting out a smile. "Let’s go, then."

"Awesome!" Eric exclaimed. "Come on."

"We’re gonna be caught…" whined Billy as Eric dragged him out of the room with him and the others. "Curfew is in half an hour…"

Billy’s voice got lost along the hallway, and Harry closed the door of the bedroom. He didn’t immediately turn back toward Dennis, staring at the wood panel instead. "You…" he said softly. He needed to be sure. "You are happy, right?"

Dennis sighed. "So he told you, hmm?"

Harry finally turned. When he met the weary eyes of Dennis, he couldn’t help but take a sharp breath. It was like all his previous emotions at hearing of his friends’ plans were coming back full-force — all the horror, the grief, the frustration…

"Why didn’t you tell me?" he said, heart open for Dennis to see. "You should have told me you were doing so bad."

Dennis lowered his eyes, frowning at his hands joined on his lap. He took a moment to answer.

"I’m not doing bad," he said quietly.

"You—!" denied Harry.

"…I’m just not doing ," Dennis continued, cutting him off.

Harry hesitated, floundering. "What do you mean?"

Dennis rubbed his face with both hands. "I…" He sighed. "It’s just… I don’t care about anything anymore. Life is empty, and I’m looking at the future and all I see is more empty." His hands gripped his hair so hard it looked like he wanted to rip it out. "Each day is lasting a year! It’s making me so insane I want to open my skull and gouge my brain out sometimes."

He lowered his hands, lifting his head to look sadly at Harry. "It’s been like this since you brought me back."

Harry’s heart stopped.

Then, it kickstarted again and began to beat like a maniac. "You…" he gasped, cold sweat breaking all over him. "You knew ?"

There was almost pity in Dennis’s blue eyes. "Of course I knew. I’m the one who died and was pulled back, I remind you." He massaged his breast, frowning. "Sometimes, I can still feel your touch on me."

Harry was at a loss for words. "Why… You… Why didn’t you tell me?"

Dennis raised an eyebrow. "Why didn’t you?"

Harry felt put on the spot. Why didn’t he, indeed? What was I supposed to say, though? ‘Hi, Dennis, glad you finally woke up. You can thank my buddy Death and me for that, we really pulled through here. Did something that’s forbidden by the laws of the universe, or whatever. We accept payment in cash or candies.’ It sounded batshit crazy, and if it didn’t, it sounded terrifying.

"I guess…," hesitated Harry. "It seemed better for you not to remember."

Dennis nodded slowly, seeming to consider the words. "Better for me, or better for you?" he asked in the end.

It was like a slap to the face. And worse, not an undeserved one.

"Maybe… both," confessed Harry in a whisper. He strode over to Dennis, getting on his knees in front of him and grabbing his hands. "Shit, Dennis, I’m sorry! I had no right to keep this from you, but…"

Harry shook his head, thinking hard to know how to put it. "I was scared," he finally admitted. "Of how you’d react, a little bit, but mostly… just of what had happened. I guess I thought that if I didn’t acknowledge it, it would stop being real." He desperately tried to catch Dennis’s gaze. "I mean, can you believe it? Death itself. Or himself, herself, whatever. This is insane."

Dennis smiled softly. "It felt nice," he said.

Harry was afraid to understand. "Death?" he asked.

"Yes," breathed Dennis, his gaze far away. "It felt so familiar… Like it was a part of me I had forgotten all along, and that I was finally reunited with it. I suddenly remembered so many things, understood so many things. I felt… whole." His face fell. "Then I came back and I forgot all I had learned. I was back to missing pieces, except this time I knew it, and my body didn’t work anymore."

Harry took a sharp breath. His world was spinning, crumbling as the dreaded realisation hit. "You didn’t want to come back," he whispered, the words punched out of him.

Dennis finally met his eyes, an unreadable look on his face. "No."

Harry hid his mouth behind his hand, a wretched, ashamed feeling of grief exploding inside him. I fucked up so bad…

And yet…

"Do you still want to die now?" asked Harry in a small voice. "Even if Riddle heals your legs?"

Dennis sighed and fiddled with a strap of his wheelchair, looking uncomfortable. "I don’t know," he said. "Honestly, the not-walking was what made me decide it wasn’t worth it to stay anymore, but… I already saw what’s at the end, Harry, and it’s so much better than down here! Living it all feels so… useless, now. I think of the future and all I can see is this empty stretch of waiting ."  

Rebellion rose in Harry. "It’s not useless! And it’s not waiting! Dennis, you have only one life. One shot at being you, with these people and in this body. You can’t just waste it, throw it away because you saw that death wasn’t so bad! You didn’t see all that could happen in the middle, did you?"

Dennis blinked, seeming surprised by Harry’s vehemence. "You don’t understand… Nothing here has any appeal, now."

"Not even your family? Your sister, your mother?"

A flash of guilt passed on Dennis’s face. "We never see each other. They’re gonna be fine…"

"Bullshit they will! They said your mother was calling you everyday from prison? Your sister—"

"They didn’t tell her because she’s too young. She doesn’t even remember me anymore…"

"You don’t know that! And we? We remember you!" He gestured harshly to himself. "Eric, Amy, Billy, Jack, Martha, all the people that love you and that you see everyday? We count for nothing?"

"I can’t live for you, okay?!" Dennis yelled. Immediately, he seemed ashamed of his outburst and deflated. "I’m sorry but… this is not enough," he whispered, defeated.

Harry was almost vibrating in passion. "Then don’t live for us," he said. "Live for you, for what you can become, what you can experience. There are things you’ll never be able to feel and live if you die now. You will never fall in love, never care for your children, never be passionate about your job, never travel, never…" He huffed. "There are so many things you will miss. You will get to the end without knowing what it was all about!"

A flicker of doubt passed in Dennis’s eyes. Harry kept going, more incensed than ever.

"You said death was good? Who says it can’t be even better if you don’t cheat and pass all the levels before you get there? Who says you’re not messing things up by bailing?"

"I…" said Dennis uncertainly.

"Who says you’re not messing things up for us all ?" Harry felt breathless, the words coming out of him before he could even think them. "Do you have any idea what you’re gonna snuff out if you disappear? All the possible futures that will go up in smoke?! You can have such an impact on the world, on the people around you, but you’ll give it all away so you can feel good now?!"

He didn’t know where all these arguments, all this conviction were coming from. They just flowed out in a stream of absolute certainty. Each life was unbearably precious, each life had its role to play in relation with the others. This fact was engraved in his very soul, in the fabric of the universe.

"Dennis," he said in a softer voice. The boy was looking at him with wide eyes, frozen. "You feel this way now, but you won’t feel it forever. Talk to my psychologist. Let Riddle heal your legs. If life is still unbearable in a year from now, then alright. But don’t check out before even trying. Don’t check out before you did anything with what the universe has given you."

Dennis was staring at him like Harry had never been stared at before, not even by Riddle. Like Dennis was seeing something else beyond him, something shocking and yet entrancing. Tears were going down his cheeks and he was gripping the arms of his wheelchair hard.

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

"Harry, I—" he squeaked. "I don’t know if I can."

Harry realised he was crushing Dennis’s knees in his hands and relented a little. "I’m not asking you if you can," he said in the most gentle voice he could. "I’m asking you to try."

Dennis kept his eyes closed, breathing heavily through his tears.

"Will you let Riddle heal you?" pleaded Harry softly. "Will you let me talk to Mrs Chapson, ask if she can take you in therapy?"

Long seconds passed, leaving Harry dangling above the void.

Dennis opened his eyes and looked down at Harry. "Okay?" he said in the smallest voice ever heard.

Harry felt all the tension whoosh out of him in a single breath. His head, suddenly too heavy, was lowered onto Dennis’s knees. "Thank you," he whispered. "I know it’s not for me, but…"

"It is," said Dennis, voice raw and, miraculously, a little more firm than before. "Well, not only. But it’s for you, too. For all of you."

Harry smiled so wide that it hurt his cheeks. "Do you forgive me?"

Dennis sighed, one hand going to pat Harry’s shoulder. "I do," he said, like a renouncement. "But you’re not really sorry, are you?"

Harry burrowed his face into Dennis’s legs to avoid looking him in the eye. "I… am sorry for hiding things from you," he said in the end. "But what can I say? I want you to live."

"Well, maybe I will…" From the corner of his eye, Harry saw him nod pensively. "Maybe I will."

 

֍֍֍

              

Life returned to a weird, shaky kind of normal for the end of the summer. Harry asked Mrs Chapson if she could see Dennis too — he was even ready to give his sessions to his friend, even though he doubted that once every three weeks would be enough. Mrs Chapson hemmed and hawed about her schedule, but Harry (and later Mrs Cole) managed to convince her. And after seeing Dennis for an hour, she actually asked him if he was ready to meet her twice per week.

Dennis agreed.

Harry had expected tremendous repercussions from Riddle after Eric’s… whatever that had been, but the boy seemed like he was floating on a cloud lately. He didn’t seem to care anymore about the attempted drowning, or even about anything, really, apart from healing. He had invaded Harry’s room the very evening after the beach trip to raid all his books, and was often gone for long hours in Diagon Alley to search for more. Harry was actually seeing very little of him now, since when the boy wasn’t out, he barricaded himself in his room to study. He managed to talk his way out of almost every group activity, and sometimes, when Harry went to the bathroom in the middle of the night, he could see light shining under Tom’s door.

It filled Harry with opposite feelings of eagerness and dread. He knew deep inside that Riddle would succeed like he succeeded at everything else, and for once, it felt good. Dennis would be walking again, and it seemed right that it was Riddle who would heal him. Like a full circle, fixing-karma kind of thing.

On the other hand, the faster Riddle studied, the louder the ticking clock inside Harry’s head was sounding.

This was also why he pretty much left Riddle to his own devices in this. He did feel the urge to help, and he normally would have insisted on doing so, but… he didn’t have time. Every moment spent with his friends was counted now.

"Tell me the truth," Eric whispered to Harry as they were tip-toeing back to the dorm after their "party" in Dennis’s room. They had slipped out of their beds after curfew, and Billy and Jack had hurried ahead of them while Eric and Harry brought things back in the kitchen. "What did the fucker ask in exchange?"

And Harry… felt awful, because he had just apologised to Dennis for hiding things from him, and here he was three hours later, doing exactly the same. But he couldn’t tell them now, he couldn’t. It would change how they acted around him, and maybe Dennis would even have second thoughts about accepting the healing. Harry didn’t have a long time left with them, and he wanted to enjoy it. For that, things had to be as normal as possible.

"I’ll tell you later," he whispered back. Then, he directed a sharp look at Eric. "Want to tell me why you tried to kill ‘the fucker’?"

Eric’s eyes darted anxiously away. "I didn’t try to kill him," he denied weakly.

Harry frowned. "I think you did."

Eric tensed so much that his shoulders almost reached his ears. "Well, even if I did, in the end I didn’t, okay?" he whispered sharply. "So no need to shit a brick…"

"Eric," chided Harry, at a loss for what to say. "You can’t just…"

"For fuck’s sake, just leave me alone," grumbled Eric, striding faster.

Harry caught up to him, grabbing him by the arm. He made them stop in the middle of the dark hallway.

"Would you have done it?" he whispered, holding his breath for the response. He was almost certain that the answer was no, that Eric could never do such a thing, but the memory of the boy’s dark gaze as he held Tom underwater kept haunting him. Honestly, he didn’t think he could cope if the answer was yes.

Eric looked at him strangely, the emergency exit lights giving his face a greenish tint. Then, he pried Harry’s fingers off his arm and leaned forward to utter snidely: "I’ll tell you later."

He strode away, leaving Harry standing behind him with his own words spat in his face.

Harry tried to get him talking again in the following days, but Eric deflected his attempts every time. This was so frustrating — what was Harry supposed to do? Just let Eric slip his bout of homicidal mania under the rug, like the boy seemed to want with all his heart? What if it happened again? What if Riddle had somehow contaminated his friend with his violence, and Eric was now falling toward "the Dark Side"?

"He wouldn’t have done it," Amy assured when Harry broached the subject with her during kitchen duty. "He would have released him in the end, I know it."

Harry wished he was that convinced. "But what made him do it? Does he talk to you?"

Amy sighed. "Harry, just forget it." She shrugged. "He hates Riddle, that’s why he did it. But he won’t do it again, now that Riddle reminded him what he can do in response."

Harry shook his head, still feeling the worry knot his insides. "Everyone hates Riddle, Amy. Yet they don’t do what Eric did."

Amy stopped peeling carrots and turned to face Harry head on. She looked baffled. "I don’t think you get it," she said. "Eric really hates Riddle. Like, really, really . It’s only gotten worse since you started befriending him…"

"I’m not befriending him…" said Harry unconvincingly.

Amy lifted a hand. "I don’t care. I think it’s good for everyone, and maybe it will change him for the better. But Eric…" She frowned. "He’s taking it bad. He thinks Riddle is hurting you and forcing you to do dark stuff when you go away together. He already wanted to push him under a car after what he did to Dennis…"

Harry winced, remembering what he had thought was only a dark fantasy of his friend.

"T—Riddle isn’t hurting me," he said in a low voice. Why did this feel like such a guilty confession? Admitting that every moment spent with Riddle wasn’t pure and unending agony felt like a moral failing. "He isn’t forcing me to do anything, apart from spending time together."

And even that was less and less true. Harry actually kind of liked the possibility of keeping an eye on the boy, the ability to do magic together.

Well, we’ll certainly have a lot more time to do that, after … Harry didn’t finish his thought, pulled down by a wave of sadness.

Amy was looking at him keenly.

"What did he ask in exchange?" she asked out of nowhere. "For Dennis."

Harry shrugged, avoiding her eyes. "Nothing. Well, something… But I’ll tell you later."

The words left a sour taste in his mouth after the way Eric had taunted him with them.

"When?" Amy demanded.

"When Riddle heals Dennis," Harry promised. "But not before."

Amy let the subject go, though her narrow gaze clearly showed what she thought about it. But the interrogation wasn’t over. Just a few hours later, Billy was accosting him in the dorm, and Harry told him the same thing.

"Later? Oh, so it’s bad, isn’t it?" wailed Billy, twisting his hands together. "How bad? What will he make you do?"

"It’s not bad," lied Harry. "It’s gonna be alright, I promise."

And he kept promising it to himself every day. It’s gonna be alright, he thought as Eric kept rebuffing his attempts to talk. It’s worth it, he reminded himself as Dennis laughed — a small, but true laugh — during his weekly phone call with his mother. Maybe Riddle will relent at some point, he prayed as Billy and Amy fought for the last chocolate yoghurt in the dining hall. Maybe I won’t care after a time, he lied to himself when Jack made a false volcano with coca cola and it exploded in all their faces.

School started again for their sixth year, and Harry’s heart threatened to swell out of his chest every day Dennis kept breathing after September 1st. His friend often sat with Olivia in class now, and made her blush when he wrote her a poem of thanks for the one she had sent him when he was in the hospital. Harry knew better than to think that Dennis had been completely steered away from his death wish. Dennis was good at pretending to be fine, but he had this pensive look sometimes when he watched the world around him, like he was assessing whether it was worth staying in it. The people were the ones he watched the most, and Harry often found himself at the receiving end of a disturbingly intense stare. He wasn’t the only target, though — the others were too, and in the rare cases he was around, even Riddle wasn’t exempt.

The days started to grow colder, and soon they were able to play in the huge pile of leaves that Percy gathered in the yard. Amy was making up with her sister, there was talk of Eric’s parents being allowed to take him back for the Christmas holidays… Harry had tried to tell the boy that Riddle wasn’t busy torturing him when they were alone together, but Eric didn’t seem convinced. Despite that, he at least kept his distance from Riddle now, and as Riddle was so busy, it was mutual. The heat between the two had now gone down to a low simmer instead of a pressure-cooker ready to explode at any moment.

In brief, things were tentatively good.

Like everything that must come to an end.

 

֍֍֍

 

On Halloween morning, Tom was standing before the shop of Abhika Dhrish.

There were no planks of wood nailed to the windows, nor any ‘out of business" notices on the door. It didn't change anything, though. Tom had been coming here for three months, and the door was always locked. The dark-purple curtains were always drawn on the windows, and the hanging sign was always on ‘closed.’

Sure, the seer’s shop had never exactly been booming, but she had occasionally received clients while Harry and Tom were practising magic in the back room. And she had never talked about moving away or going on vacation.

This was not normal.

Tom didn’t like it.

Today, he would do something about it.

He checked again that the street was empty, wishing that he had mastered the homenum revelio already. He was trying hard, but the spell still wouldn’t come to him, and lately he had been rather busy with what he had humorously dubbed his ‘doctor’s degree.’ Something he had wished to get Abhika’s help on (among other, more urgent matters), but of course she had vanished at the worst possible time…

Hoping that his Notice-Me-Not would be sufficient to hide him from eventual prying eyes, he slipped into the narrow alleyway running beside the shop. He drew what he now considered his wand from his pocket and turned it on himself.

"Pluma pondus. Wingardium leviosa."

The soothing sensation of weightlessness overtook him, and he slowly, slowly pointed his wand upwards. His body followed suit, wavering slightly. The adjustments necessary to cast the charms on himself were nothing compared to the struggle of directing his own body by wand. The focus it required kind of detracted from the whole ‘I’m flying!’ thrill, and Tom was determined to learn to cast the spell wandlessly in the future.

He floated up until he was level with the little round window on the third floor of the house. He pushed hard on the glass, and smiled when the weak sticking charm he had used to keep the window closed months ago gave way. In a moment, he was landing inside.

He smothered a cough against his arm when puffs of dust assaulted his nostrils, and looked around him. Abhika didn’t seem to have gone into the attic since Tom had sneaked upstairs in June, which was what he counted on when unlocking the window. Though at the time, he had just thought he would use it if Abhika’s fake banishments ever turned real and if Tom needed to steal some books or a bit of money. He hadn’t predicted that he would be investigating the seer’s disappearance.

He crept down the stairs, frowning at the layer of dust coating everything. The house felt stale, silent, and dead. The second floor only held a bathroom, a closet, and Abhika’s bedroom, and Tom checked them all without picking up on any remnants of magic other than the one he had felt before in the seer’s home. Her drawers and chests only contained clothes or mundane items.

Frustrated at finding no clues, he sneaked downstairs. He was almost certain that the house was empty now, but he still felt the urge to stay silent. Who knew if the danger that had taken Abhika was still lurking around?

He arrived in the dark hall, where he could go in the front shop, the kitchen or the back room. Quietly, he slipped into the latter, where he knew Abhika kept most of her interesting things — books, magical items, correspondence, spare wands from long dead uncles…

At the table where he and Harry used to work were a crystal ball, what Tom recognized as chicken bones, and parchments laying haphazardly. He approached, bending to peer into the crystal and seeing only the distorted reflection of his face. He looked at the parchments.

Abhika’s writing was near illegible, and when it wasn’t, it didn’t make much sense. Tom frowned at what seemed to mostly be questions and bits of sentences scribbled or crossed out on a parchment.

 

Stone put on a ring? Mid-1800 prob . 1868 fuzzy after that

Still no sign of EW malfunctioning before, unless it changed Master. No info of anyone getting near the wand since april.

Gregorovitch: some place warm where people speak spanish. Maybe South America? Need more info

Unrest in Balkans Confederation, sack of the Council — Next year???

Phoenix cooped up still, but will fight if its nest is attacked 9/10 times

    —> Appeal to feelings make probs of aggressivity 40% higher

    —> The child again!!! Very prob future (2-5 years?? student Hogwarts?)

The niece is the key (german pm)

Shabley ready to be approached, steals money from the dept./superior humiliated him in last fight.

 

For pages and pages it was like this. The seer jumped from one subject to the next, linked totally separate parts with arrows, underlined the strangest things, all in a hurried scrawl that screamed of urgency. It looked like predictions of the future… except she kept referencing dates from the past.

There were also some letters on the table. He grabbed one of them, unfolding it to read it, until…

The black seal still attached to one end made him freeze. Engraved in it was a stick, inside a circle, inside a triangle.

The symbol of Harry’s pendant.

"What the hell?" he muttered.

He was turning the letter over to read it when a weak voice called from the next room, making him jump three feet into the air:

"Who’s there?!"

It was so raspy that Tom took a moment to recognize it as Abhika’s. Wait, she was here? The whole time?!

Still clutching the letter, Tom went into the kitchen where her voice had come from. He didn’t bother to mute his steps, though he did go in with his wand drawn.

He didn’t see her at first. The room was in total disarray, drawers left open, cauldrons on the floor, a chair knocked over. He wrinkled his nose, the air smelling of old potion fumes. It was like a squatter had invaded the home and been living exclusively in the kitchen. The mess seemed to radiate from the far corner behind the table, where it looked like a mass of covers were piled up.

"Who’s there?" repeated Abhika weakly. The pile of covers moved.

Jesus, thought Tom. He approached, stepping over the mess and noticing several bunched up strips of white fabric, soiled with reddish brown stains. He rounded the table, and when he finally saw Abhika, he stopped, transfixed.

The woman frowned, squinting an eye. "Tom?" she said, tone incredulous and wavering.

Where her other eye had been now remained only an empty socket, blackened and scorched like its contents had been burned. She didn’t have her usual shawl, her greasy hair matted to her skull, and her tanned skin looked pale and drawn.

"Who did this?" Tom breathed, feeling a shiver run up his spine.

He didn’t know why he was so shocked — and a bit scared, even. Violence usually never fazed him… But the violence he saw was a muggle kind of violence that Tom understood well. What happened to Abhika… this was like the Warpers all over again, a shocking, unfathomable danger appearing suddenly in a place that had previously been safe.

"Nooo," moaned Abhika. "Tom, go away!" She burrowed under the covers so her burnt eye was hidden. Despite the care of her movements, it still made her gasp in pain. "Not s’posed to be here…"

Suspicious, Tom kneeled beside her, wrinkling his nose at the stench of burnt flesh, decay, and old sweat emanating from her. He grabbed the covers and threw them off, exposing her body as she cried out and clawed at the air to bring them back.

He inhaled sharply. She was almost naked underneath, only wearing some panties. Abhika wailed, covering her small breasts and ineffectually trying to bring the covers back, but Tom didn’t let her, uncaring about her nudity.

No, what he cared about were the bloody bandages riddling her chest, and more sparsely her hips, arms, and legs. She had obviously put them on by herself, and seeing the gauze and cauldrons filled with old potions around her, was also trying to heal her wounds alone.

Tom hesitated. Then, he finally reached out to remove one of the bandages at her hip. Abhika was too slow to stop him, and it detached far too easily, slippery with pus. Tom couldn’t help but gag.

Under the soiled bandage, the wound was a long gash with ragged, burnt-off edges. The raw flesh was cherry red and oozing pus, and when Tom’s fingers brushed against Abhika’s skin, it was burning hot.

Tom didn’t need to probe with his power to know that she had been tortured with dark, dark magic.

"It’s all infected," he said disapprovingly. "Why didn’t you go to St Mungo’s Hospital?" He had learned a lot about the establishment in his latest readings and knew that, being funded by wealthy families, they didn’t charge money for life-threatening emergencies. Abhika had no reason to avoid going to them. "You obviously can’t heal this alone."

Abhika curled in on herself, laughing with tears dripping from her eyes as she hid her face against her pillow. "’m dreaming…" she slurred.

Tom frowned in annoyance, putting her covers back on. "You’re feverish, you mean." He looked around, wondering how to contact St Mungo’s anonymously. They couldn’t know he was aware of magic, but if he left her like that, she would undoubtedly die… Which, contrary to Bishop, wasn’t appealing at all. First of all, it would be a waste of a witch and a seer’s life, but above all, she was useful to him. He didn’t want to lose his only contact in the Wizarding World.

"Do you have a neighbour you trust?" he asked dubiously.

Abhika grabbed his hand, her skin clammy and hot. "No! No St Mungo’s, no one… Tom, no one must know." She retreated her hand, shivering under her covers. "You have to leave."

"Why don’t you want to go to the hospital?" he asked, frustrated.

She shook her head dazedly. "No, no… no hospital. They can’t know. If they know, he’ll do worse."

"You’re already dying," he noted to her.

She tightened the covers around herself. "’m alright," she mumbled, though she sounded frightened. "He w-won’t let me die."

She fell into another fit of laugh-crying, and Tom tilted his head, frowning. "The one who did this to you?"

"Shhh…" she whispered. "C-can’t speak about him."

Tom narrowed his eyes, intensely curious and wary at the same time. He looked toward the door, hesitating to contact St Mungo’s anyway. But…

He looked back down at Abhika, considering. Is she delirious, or is this a real threat? If she came into St Mungo’s with these kinds of dark magic wounds on her, an investigation would probably be launched. Would her torturer kill her to avoid that?

She tapped him urgently on the arm. "Go away, Tom!" she pleaded. "P-please go away. I don’t know when he’ll be back."

The cold fingers or fear crawled along Tom’s spine. Meeting the person who had done that was the last thing he wanted in the world. The torturer would probably kill Tom on sight.

She was right, he decided regretfully. He couldn't stay here, even if leaving the witch alone in this state would almost definitely sign her death sentence. Maybe he could send an anonymous tip to St Mungo’s before leaving Diagon?

But he couldn’t leave just yet. Not with the letter he was still clutching in his left hand.

"Abhika," he said, showing her the black seal on the parchment. "What is this?"  

She took some time to focus on the wax. And when she did, she recoiled like she had been hit. "Where—where did you…?! Don’t touch that! Don’t—!"

She reached weakly to take the letter from him, but he easily lifted it away. "Abhika!" he insisted. "What is this symbol? The triangle with the circle and stick inside?"

She covered her face with her hands. "No, no no!" she whined. "Can’t speak about it, can’t know about it! Go away!"

Tom turned to glance at the door anxiously. He hated to spend any more time here than necessary, but if Abhika was intent on staying her closed-off self despite her fever…

There is something that could make her more malleable, he thought suddenly.

Did he have time? Could he really risk it?

The secret whispered in his ear almost three months ago came back to him, if it had ever really left his mind. He shivered, feeling his determination harden. The truth was, he couldn't afford not to risk it. The opportunity was too good.

He kneeled back down, putting a gentle hand on the seer’s damp, disgusting forehead. "I learned some things about healing," he said. "I could try to relieve your pain. What do you think of that?"

Abhika’s breath hitched at the prospect. "I—" she struggled to say. "No… you have to leave, Tom…"

"It will just take a minute. Don’t you want to feel better? It must hurt so much…" Tom held her one-eyed gaze, pushing all the compulsion he could into his words. Surprisingly, maybe because of her weakened state, he felt his power easily wash over her mind.

"I… I don’t…" she babbled, lost.

"Let’s see what we can do, hmm?" Tom cut her off. He removed the covers again to have access to her injuries.

"N-ooo!" whined Abhika, trying to protect her modesty like last time. Tom wanted to roll his eyes. He didn’t know what was so taboo about a naked woman.

"It’s alright," he said peacefully, still petting her forehead and holding her gaze. "It’s alright, you can trust me. I’m not just anyone, am I? It’s me, Tom." Each of his words was full of compulsion, bending her will and lowering her defences. "I will take care of you. Poor Abhika, you have no one but me, have you?"

The seer sobbed, closing her eye.

"It’s alright," cooed Tom. "I’m here, I’m here. I will make it all better…"

Pain-killers worked best with potions, but Tom didn’t know how to brew one. Besides, the charm he had in mind had the nifty side effect of lowering inhibitions and loosening the tongue. Tom had practised it on some younger children over the months, wondering if he could use it on Bishop during the healing to know if he had other secrets he didn’t deserve.

It didn’t work for very long, but hopefully it would be enough to let her spill her guts.

He concentrated, whispering the incantation and pointing his wand at her head like the charm demanded.

It usually required a bit of power, but this time, when Tom tried to give the usual amount, he felt blocked by a sort of dark wall. He guessed the torture spells that had been cast on her were too powerful to bypass that easily. It must have been why all the potions the seer had made didn’t seem to have worked.

Tom frowned and pushed more power into his charm, attacking the wall with more and more force. It didn’t want to give. You WILL let me pass! he thought furiously, drilling the wall with everything he had. He wouldn’t be denied his answers because of some stupid—

He had been trying to destroy the wall, but suddenly, he ended up popping through instead. Right away, he got to Abhika’s nervous system.

The seer immediately let out a sigh of relief.

"Oooooh…" she moaned, her body relaxing. "Oh, thank you, thank you …"

Tom smiled, and wiped the sweat off his brow. Let it not be said that he could be stopped easily.

"Here, isn’t it better?" he said, voice a little more breathless than he expected. "You’re lucky I came by."

It was rather the contrary, and as the seer smiled in bliss, he picked the letter back up, returning to his main goal.

"I’m really curious about this symbol, Abhika," he said, voice full of compulsion. He showed her the letter again to refresh her memory, tapping on the sigil. "It’s really important that I know what it is. Will you tell me?"

Her glassy eye fixated on the seal and she frowned, her mouth opening and closing several times without emitting a sound.

Tom didn’t let his frustration show; he just pushed wave after wave of persuasion at her. He felt her mushy mind swallow them up without any fight. "Abhika," he insisted. "If you don’t tell me, I’m gonna be in great danger."

Tom knew it had been just the lie to loosen her tongue. Her eye widened and she looked at him in panic. "Danger? T-Tom, you have to leave…"

He rolled his eyes. "I will leave as soon as you tell me what this symbol is, Abhika. I promise you."

She was eyeing the seal with a dread that made Tom uneasy. Silence fell between them, longer than he would have liked. He was about to insist again when, finally, she spoke.

"T’is his mark," she slurred with reluctance.

Tom blinked. "Whose mark?" Harry’s? But how could it end up on a letter? "Does it belong to the man who did this to you?" Abhika nodded, and Tom asked, "What does it mean?"

Abhika stayed silent, avoiding his eyes. Tom sighed and pushed more compulsion her way. "Abhika…"

The seer was forced to relent. "It is… it is the symb’le of the Deathel—Deathly Hallows."

Tom’s stomach did a weird flutter. Death. How come Harry was always associated with death? "What are the Deathly Hallows?" he prodded eagerly.

Another silence, shorter this time. "Th-the wand, the stone and the cape," she whispered, drawing a line, a circle and a triangle in the air. "With all three, you’re the M— Master of Death."

Tom inhaled sharply, feeling as if he was falling and flying at the same time. His heart was beating faster than ever before.

The Master of Death. This title was self-explanatory.

No way… no way!

Abhika was still talking — wailing, rather. "I d-don’t know why his wand’s not working anymooore!" she sobbed. "I’m so sorry, I can’t do it, I can’t, I can’t, I can’t—"

"Shh," Tom interrupted her. He was still halfway gone in his head and patted her head distractedly. "Shh, it’s alright. Say, Abhika… you know I almost came with Harry today? You remember Harry?"

Abhika scrunched up her nose, tears still falling down her cheeks. "Harry…" she said in a tone of dislike.

"Hmmm. He is strange, isn’t he?" Tom was still pushing a greedy wave of compulsion at her. Talk to me. You want to tell me everything. You don’t want to hide anymore. "I know you noticed it too."

"Dang’rous," she slurred in dread. "Tom… Tom, he’s dang’rous…"

Tom felt a chill creep up his spine, in fear or excitement, he didn’t know.  "Why is he dangerous, Abhika?" he asked, voice gently coaxing. As he talked, he started draining some of the pus of her hip wound by magic. He needed to occupy himself or he would spiral into his own thoughts. "Is it because of what you saw on his palm?"

"No life-line…" the seer whispered like she was afraid Harry would hear her. "No life-line, a death-line. Not s’posed to exist, s’posed to be a myth…"

"A death-line? Asked Tom eagerly. He cast some anti-inflammatory charm on her wound, and covered it in a clean bandage. "What is it?"

"Can’t read a death-line…" whined the seer. "Can’t read his lines, they’re not fixed in time…” 

"Okay, but what is it?" insisted Tom, the bandage for the next wound laying forgotten in his hands.

"Means… ’s not from our plane… Means he’s out of the paths of Destiny. He’s… chaos !"

Master of Death. Not from our plane. Chaos. Tom’s pulse was shivering. Once again, Harry’s very existence seemed to bend the universe, revealing new layers that were invisible to everyone else.

"You— have to get ‘way from him, Tom," begged Abhika, her only eye rolling feverishly. "’s not safe with him… not safe…"

Tom grinned, feeling wild and unstable. It was probably not safe… and yet nothing or no one could be more thrilling. Was Harry even human? He was starting to feel like the boy had been sent here just for him, the coincidences were just starting to be insane. Harry had already been the one to show him the Wizarding World, he had already proven that he was the only person worthy of being a companion to Tom, and now… immortality seemed like just the tip of what he could bring him. Together, they would push back the limits of Magic, of Life and Death, of what reality was thought to be. Tom had no doubt now that the boy was a part of his great Destiny. He was the key — the key to immortality, to knowledge, to power… to everything .

Did Harry know? Did he remember? If he had really done what Dennis said, he must, right?

"You have… to stay ‘way from him," was insisting Abhika.

"On the contrary," Tom said, returning to bandaging the second wound. "I think I’ll keep him now more than ever. Lucky I managed to secure exclusivity rights to him recently. Soon, he’ll be all mine."

Abhika seemed lost, and Tom guessed she hadn’t understood half of what he had said. He wondered if she would remember any part of this conversation, if she survived.

"You have… to protect you’self," she settled on saying.

"Harry and I will protect each other," he said, passing to another wound. He couldn’t really heal them, but they did look better after his spells.

"He can’t be controlled…" whined Abhika.

Tom laughed. He and she thought so alike, sometimes. "Maybe not," he conceded. "But he’ll be forced to rely on me, now that he’ll not have anyone else."

The both of them, truly alone at last. It fueled Tom with such an intense desire that, suddenly, he decided he would do the healing tonight . He had wanted to practice a little more, maybe make some more tests on children instead of stray cats and hedgehogs, but he felt confident in his abilities now. Besides, wouldn’t it be symbolic, to allow Bishop to live again on Halloween night?

"Harry will have no choice but to be mine," said Tom in deep satisfaction.

A man’s voice suddenly sounded behind him, making Tom cry out and jump.

"I would be wary of feeling too smug," said the man. "People can be deliciously unpredictable."

Tom was already on his feet, wand drawn…

The stick flew out of his hand by a simple wave of the gentleman before him. The tall blond man caught it deftly, and inspected it with familiar blue eyes…

It’s the man from before, thought Tom wildly. The one who was with Abhika when we took refuge in her shop that first time.

He was as well-dressed as ever, his green robes cutting a dashing figure for a middle-aged man, and his curls shining like molten gold under the lamps. But Tom was well aware that beauty didn’t mean goodness, and a pit of dread settled in his stomach when he realised he was very probably trapped with the one who had inflicted such horrible wounds on Abhika. The one whose sigil linked him to Harry — to Death.

I stayed too long, he cursed silently. I forgot that her attacker could come back at any time!

Abhika herself seemed aware enough to have realised the same thing, and was sobbing in the background. "Noooo, noooo, noooo! Don’t hurt him!" she begged in a pathetic, slurring voice.

The blond gentleman didn’t even look her way, still ensconced by Tom’s wand.

"So here it is, hmm?" he asked, throwing an amused look at Tom. "The wand Fenrir Greyback is shouting everywhere that I stole from him."

"W-who are you?" asked Tom, voice unsteady. "How long have you been here?"

How much had he heard ?

"Oh, I just got here," answered the man casually, tilting Tom’s wand this way and that. He glanced at Tom keenly before getting back to studying the wand. "You’re one of the boys from the other time, aren’t you? I didn’t realise you had such a continuous relationship with my seer."

He pointed Tom’s wand at the chair thrown on the floor and, with a little flourish, transfigured it into a colourful parrot. The animal looked around itself with bafflement.

"Pah!" said the gentleman, shaking the wand in disgust. "Do you really use this? It has brute force and nothing else. It would answer to any master strong enough to use it — no loyalty at all."

"No looooyaaaaltyyy!" shouted the parrot in its quavering voice. It spread its wings and took flight, going to land on the man’s shoulder.

"I would say… vine," the man continued. "No! Blackthorn. Blackthorn with a core of dragon heartstring, of course." He looked at Tom. "Did you know that 51% of wands worldwide have a core of dragon heartstring? Where would we be without dragons, hmm?"

"Drrragons!" cackled the parrot.

As Tom was still standing frozen before the sobbing Abhika, the man lowered the wand. "Ah, excuse my boring prattle, young man. I can get carried away when we breach the subject of wands." His voice turned cheerily sinister. "Isn’t that right, Abhika?"

From the corner of his eye, Tom saw the seer curl up under the covers that she had had the presence of mind to pull back. "I’m sor—ry!" she hiccuped, pleading. "So sorry!"

The man approached, making Tom take two quick steps away.

"She’s more snivelling than usual," remarked the blond wizard, crouching beside the seer. "Did you give her something? Potions aren’t supposed to work on her afflictions."

The man pointed his wand at Abhika, casting some spell. He was distracted, and Tom seized his chance. The boy sprinted off to the door, uncaring about abandoning his wand or Abhika behind. All his cells were screaming at him to get away or die.

He was a step from the threshold when a black rope wrapped around his ankle and pulled. Tom fell with a yell and flailed as he was dragged backwards on the dirty floor.

The man clicked his tongue reproachfully. "None of that, now. You wouldn’t want to be impolite, would you?"

"Impoliiite!" screeched the parrot. The man rolled his eyes and dislodged it from his shoulder, turning it back to a chair with his own wand.

Anger burned through Tom’s veins. He may be scared out of his wits, but he wouldn’t snivel.

"Because dragging someone by the ankle is polite?" he asked. Locking eyes with the man, Tom focused his powers and cut through the rope. The black cord fell to the floor, leaving his ankle bare.

Blond eyebrows lifted. "My, my…" The man appraised Tom with sudden sharpness. "Wandless magic at such a young age… How old are you? Seven?"

Tom sputtered in outrage. "I will be ten in two months!"

The man dismissed it with a wave. "I’m not an expert on children." His blue eyes glinted. "I just know that they’re not supposed to control their magic so young." He nodded toward Abhika, whose single eye was watching them in fixated fright. "Were you the one who cast the solamen charm on her, too?"

"I did," Tom said proudly. Then, lying a little, "It was easy."

The man smiled, a hungry, gleeful thing that showed off his perfect white teeth. His canines were a little too sharp. "What a fascinating young man you are. I wonder…." He looked at Tom thoughtfully for some time, before turning to the seer. "You know what, Abhika dear? I might just forgive you, now that you’ve offered me such a wonderful find."

Tom felt uneasy. A find? He wasn’t a find. No matter his curiosity on how this man was linked to Harry, Tom didn’t want to have anything to do with him.

Abhika seemed to have the same opinion. "No, pleaase…" she begged. "Leave Tom alone… s’ just a boy…"

"She’s fond of you," remarked the man to Tom. "I didn’t know the harpy could be fond of anyone."

"Why did you do that to her?" asked Tom.

The man threw a contemplating look at Abhika, pulling back her covers. The woman didn’t fight it this time, simply curling up and covering her breasts with a hurt whine.

"Do you know what Abhika is, Tom?" asked the man.

"A seer."

The man shook his head. "She’s an All-Seer. She can see the past and the present as well as the future." He made to pat Abhika’s head, who recoiled and didn’t let him. "Very rare. Very disliked, too, as it allows them to know things about people they would rather keep secret. It doesn’t stop them from being sought after, though. In Britain they’re supposed to register at the Ministry of Magic and work for them, but Abhika here was a very naughty girl. Or rather, her mother was, keeping her hidden from the Ministry." He tilted his head. "But I can understand it, with how her mother was used herself."

Tom’s fear was still there, but it ebbed away a little to leave place for fascination. He could see how such a power could be beyond useful.

"You’re on your way to killing her," said Tom, scolding at such a waste. "Why would you—"

"I won’t kill her," the man denied easily. "But I employ her for a reason, and she disappointed me deeply." His chilling tone made Abhika quaver. "She has been incapable of fulfilling the two simple tasks I’ve given her."

"I’m sorry," said Abhika tearfully. "I’m so sorry…"

"Sorry doesn’t help me, Abhika," said the man. "Sorry doesn’t tell me where to find what I want or how to resolve my problem." He looked at Tom, and the boy shivered at the coldness of his gaze. "What use is a seer who doesn’t see, am I right, Tom? That’s why I removed one of her eyes."

Tom wasn’t one for sentiment, but he could admit that even he was a little shocked by such cold cruelty. "And the other wounds?" he challenged.

"One for every time I came and she didn’t have my answers. You can see how unhelpful she has been."

Abhika hiccuped on a sob, face twisted in agony.

Tom was suddenly very glad that he hadn’t taken Harry with him today. The boy’s self-righteous empathy would have never allowed him to just sit and listen to this. He would have attacked, and probably gotten both of them killed. Did Harry care enough about Tom to bring him back from the dead too? It wasn’t certain.

"I might have to stop, though," sighed the man. "There is no use beating your horse to death when it is simply too lame to win the race. But you did an impressive job attempting to heal her. Where did you learn to cast spells like this?"

Tom narrowed his eyes, shrugging. "In books."

The man stared at him, aghast, and then barked a short laugh. "Where did you find this lad?" he asked Abhika. She didn’t answer, her single eye staring between the two in dread.

"That’s impressive," the man said. "Not enough to truly save her, but still remarkable considering that this curse should have prevented you from even doing that much."

Tom hesitated, but the man seemed in a talking mood and Tom was too curious. "What curse is it?"

The man’s blue eyes scrutinised Tom pensively. Then, a strange little smile played on his lips. "Who knows, maybe I’ll show it to you one day."

Tom shivered, knowing that this statement could be taken in wildly different ways. God, how he hated not being the most powerful one in the room! Or the most cruel, it seemed.

Abhika didn’t seem to like the idea either. "Please…" she whined. "Let Tom go…  P-put him under a vow and let him go, he won’t t-tell anyone…"

"Oh, don’t you worry," the man said in a tone Tom didn’t trust. "I’ll let him go." The blond patted Abhika’s head soothingly, but winced at the grease it put on his palm. He fished a handkerchief out of his pocket and wiped his hand. "One way or another, Tom and I will part ways today. But first…"

While Tom was left reeling from what it could possibly mean, the man turned on his knees and, once again, removed Abhika’s cover. She curled protectively on herself, and while the man waved his wand at her in complicated swirls, she tensed and let out a panicked whimper. She was probably expecting a curse, but the golden ray that hit her in the ribs didn’t do any visible damage.

"There," the man said, getting up and dusting his robe at the knees. "You’ll be able to heal yourself, now. Consider it my last mercy, Abhika."

It was both pathetic and a little unnerving to see the usually stern woman suddenly burst into sobs. "Th-thank you!" she wailed. "Oh M-Merlin, thank you!" She twisted her head to look up at the blond man. "And — and what about… T-Tom?"

The man smiled. He turned his arctic gaze toward Tom, who couldn’t help but freeze.

"That," said the man with relish," is what we are going to discover now."

"What?" exclaimed Tom as the man approached him slowly. "What are you—?"

"Don’t hurt him!" bawled Abhika, reached out to try and grab at the man’s ankle. "Please don’t hurt him, don’t hurt him, not Tom, not—!"

She slumped on her makeshift cot of covers when a bolt of light hit her. Tom recognized it as a stunner.

The man released a put-upon sigh, lowering his wand. "There, finally a little peace and quiet. Seeing her like that was fun at the start, but it was becoming grating, wasn’t it?"

Almost nonchalant, he turned his wand toward Tom. The boy raised himself on his knees and lifted his chin defiantly, trying to hide the cold fear that was unfurling in his stomach. He couldn’t die now, he couldn’t, he just couldn’t…

"What are you going to do?" he asked, voice more brittle than he would have liked. "Who are you?!"

The man kept approaching until the point of his wand was mere inches from Tom’s nose. The boy flinched despite himself when a hand passed through his hair almost tenderly. Soon, the hand lowered to his collar and pulled him to his feet.

"You can call me Gellert," said the man congenially. He then grinned. "And as to what I’ll do, well… now I’ll see if you’re worth keeping around!"

Tom suddenly felt squeezed into a tight tube, unable to breathe. A second later, a muted crack! sounded in the kitchen and all that was left behind was the unconscious form of the Allseer.

Notes:

Tom & Abhika: "The Master of Death is Harry Childress, he lives at Wool’s Children’s Home in the Blue dorm first bed from the left."
Grindelwald: *shows up just after they finish talking*
Me: "Contrivance? What do you mean, contrivance? This is dramatic irony at its finest!"

Chapter 14: The ghosts of yesterday

Chapter Text

After an extremely unpleasant moment, Tom and Gellert landed on a cliff face whipped by an icy wind. All around them, snowy mountain peaks reached toward the gray skies. The sight that widened Tom’s teary eyes, though, and made him realize how far he was from home, were the tall, dark ruins of a castle a few steps from them. Its jagged edges and torn walls gave off an ominous vibe, further enhanced by the shrill sound of the wind rushing through gaping windows. It sounded like screams.

"Where are we?" Tom breathed.

"Nurmengard," the wizard said, turning to the castle with a pensive look. "An emblematic place here in Austria. It belonged to a powerful magical family whose name is now lost to time. It was brutally destroyed with all its inhabitants some seven hundred years ago."

Tom got up carefully, backing off a few steps. "Why did you bring me here?" he demanded, looking discreetly around. His heart constricted when he saw how desolate the mountainside was. How could he hope to escape the wizard here?

"I like the symbolism of this place," Gellert answered. His blue gaze drifted to the side, toward the edge of the cliff just a few meters away. "I use it… often."

Tom followed his gaze, and out of curiosity, took the steps that separated him from the edge. He looked down at the ravine, and his breath froze in his throat. The icy claws of primal fear scraped down his back.

The cliff face didn’t fall right down into the abyss. It went down for about ten meters before being caught by a soft slope, which then disappeared toward depths unseen.

On the slope, discarded among the rocks, were bodies.

Some were no more than bones anymore, their parts scattered by the wind as they waited to be swept off the slope. Some were disturbingly recent, enough for Tom to still be able to see how their rotting flesh had been picked over by crows. For a moment, time ceased to exist and Tom stared transfixed at the body of a blond woman who seemed to be looking up straight at him. Her gray skin had sunk to her skull and she only had one glassy eye left, like Abhika. The other had been devoured already.

Tom whirled around, and cried out when he found himself confronted by the tip of a wand. Gellert had approached without him hearing anything.

"I’m afraid you’ve seen and heard too much, Tom," said Gellert. "You certainly seem like a promising young man, but are you promising enough to be worth the risk of keeping you alive?"

"Please!" Shamefully, Tom felt tears prick up at his eyes. He realized he was trembling all over, his heart jackrabbit-fast. Cruelly, everything felt more real now that it was about to be snatched away; the wind was colder, the feel of his clothes sharper, the man’s eyes bluer. "I won’t say anything! I’m just a child… you can’t kill a child, right?"

The blond man sighed with what sounded like pity. "I wonder what makes people think that children’s lives hold so much more value than adult ones," he mused. "A life is a life, isn’t it? Sometimes it’s useful, and sometimes it’s more useful to… snuff it out ."

A surge of anger and indignation finally broke out of Tom. No, he couldn’t die here, on a gloomy and cold mountain, minor collateral of a plot he didn’t even understand! Not him , not before accomplishing anything of his Destiny! It couldn’t end like this!

"Then test me!" Tom exclaimed savagely. "You said I was a ‘find’ earlier, well, see it for yourself! I am the most clever boy that I know, the most powerful, the most resourceful! I know how to do things they don’t even teach at Hogwarts because it’s too hard! This is your only opportunity to have me on your side, and if you waste it like that, then you’re the worst moron in the universe and you’ll probably fail at everything you do!"

Gellert stared at him for a while, lips parted. Then, he chuckled, shaking his head fondly. "My, my! You are quite the impassioned speaker, aren’t you? And you look very sure of your worth. That’s another point in your favor, though we’ll have to work on your smooth talking if I decide to keep you around."

"How many points do I need?" Tom asked right away.

He had no intention to give any true "allegiance" to this man, but the dark wizard didn’t have to know that. Tom would find a way out of any vow of submission later – he just had to walk out of this mountain alive.

Gellert contemplated him for a long time, the quirk of his lips giving the eerie impression that he knew what Tom was thinking. After a few more moments of silence, he said:

"I think one more will suffice."

And, to Tom’s astonishment, he offered him his wand back. Tom hesitated, wanting to take it back more than anything, but felt suspicious of such a gift.

"It’s not a trick," Gellert said. "Far be it from me to keep a wizard from his wand."

Tom took a fortifying breath and took back the wand, stepping a little away from the edge of the cliff.

"There, now—" started the man, rummaging in his pocket.

"CONFRINGO!"

Tom put everything he had in the curse, the red jet of light brighter and more substantial than any he had cast before.

The blond wizard didn’t even look up, didn’t even move ; a shield simply appeared before him upon which the blasting curse crashed. Tom recoiled. The man was standing barely two meters away, how could he have reacted so fast?! How could he…!

"I appreciate the effort you’re putting into impressing me," Gellert said, one hand still in his pocket, "but I have something else in mind for you."

He took out a golden necklace, its chain quite simple except for the medallion that dangled from it. A painting of a blue eye adorned it, and it looked so uncannily like the wizard’s that Tom shivered. He looked up at the man, who was smiling eagerly. He pointed to the ruins of the castle behind them.

"Your goal, young Tom, is quite simple. Simply reach the highest tower of Nurmengard, see what’s waiting for you up there, and come back down to me. Then, you’ll have earned the right to live." His eyes twinkled. "And maybe to something more."

Tom eyed the dilapidated castle, keeping the blond wizard in his field of vision. "And you won’t tell me what’s waiting for me up there, I suppose?"

"How should I know?" Gellert answered cryptically.

Tom glared at him, trying to convey ‘well, because it’s your damn test’ with his face, but the man just kept on smiling. The boy clenched his teeth, turning to look at the dark tower jutting from the highest point of the castle. It was really quite high — how it hadn’t toppled over already, he had no idea. "How long do I have?" he asked.

"Well, that will depend on my patience," the man said blithely. He handed Tom the necklace once more. "Speaking of which, be a good boy and put that on. I will grow bored exponentially fast if I am not able to see or hear you inside."

Tom glared at the painted blue eye in distaste. So it wasn’t just creepy, then; it was also a spy. Tom took it reluctantly and put it around his neck. Even though he hated the idea of wearing it — felt an almost physical revulsion to it, actually — he didn’t have much of a choice.

"Don’t remove it, or that will be an automatic fail," Gellert warned.

"Will it kill me if your ‘patience’ runs out?" Tom asked with more calm than he felt.

The wizard’s smile widened like that of a shark. "Good thinking, Tom, but no. I promise that if you have to go, you’ll have the honor of leaving by my wand."

How reassuring. Since Bishop’s revelations, Tom had been rethinking non-stop his views on death and was no closer to getting conclusive answers. He wasn’t eager to get them first hand, though. Everything was possible now, after all. Who knew if he would just disappear, spend eternity as a ghost, or outright be thrown into a pit of bubbling lava?

Tom squared his shoulders, vowing that he wouldn’t find out today.

Never would have been best, but for now he would settle on today .

"Well, here goes nothing," he muttered to himself. Wand gripped tight, he walked toward the gaping entry of the castle, whose doors had long crumbled to dust.

"Good luck," Gellert said at his back, unable not to sound a little mocking. "I’m rooting for you, Tom!"

And I’m rooting for you to die in horrific pain, Tom thought in return. He didn’t stop or turn back though, and, without showing any of his trepidation, he stepped inside the castle.

Going inside felt strangely like entering another, more quiet world. The wind died and the light dimmed, the sounds from the outside cut out. Tom had to stop himself from looking back to check that the open doorway was still there — the pendant around his neck was watching, judging. He had to show strength and confidence. So instead, he kept going along a stone corridor, toward the heart of the castle where he could maybe find stairs to the tower.

Strangely, the castle looked far worse from the outside than it did from the inside. The walls around him were bare and whole, the floors and ceilings intact. There wasn’t a single window, the only light coming from the burning torches placed at regular intervals on the walls. The echoing sounds of Tom’s steps were his only company.

Or was it? Despite himself, he had to admit he was on edge, and he startled badly when he saw a flicker of movement at the end of an adjacent corridor. He whirled around, wand drawn and heart pounding, but there was nothing.

Tom forced himself to breathe. He could have sworn he had seen something on the floor… but it must have been his imagination. Calm down , he scolded himself. Bloody hell.

He checked every room he saw — all empty — and passed through grand rooms and narrow corridors alike. The lack of windows was starting to be strange; it was like the castle had been walled in, though there weren’t any marks on the walls from previous windows. The big room he was in now, with its arched ceiling and colonnades, definitely should have had some.

Because of the pillars, Tom had to move halfway into the room before he could see a very welcome sight: the rounded walls heralding a staircase. Finally! Tom ran up to the closed door at its bottom and immediately tried to open it.

It was locked.

Tom rolled his eyes. He pointed his wand and cast right away, "Alohomora".

Nothing happened, and he scowled, annoyed. Oh, that’s right. He couldn’t use magic inside the castle.

"You… jerk!" he swore lamely at the despicable man, knowing Gellert could hear him through the medallion.

A part of his brain was prickling, though. How did he know that he couldn’t use magic inside the castle? Gellert hadn’t talked about that… had he?

He picked at his brain for a moment, but came out only with a vague fog. In the end, he shrugged. It wasn’t like him to let go of a mystery like that, but first, he needed to get to that tower. Indeed, he was quite eager to fulfill the ‘not dying’ part of his day.  

Regretfully, he put his wand back in his pocket and turned to the door. How to open it without magic? Tom knew some children at Wool’s could pick locks, but as he had always felt secure in his powers, he never felt the need to learn. And even if he had, there were no tools around... Maybe he could find another staircase? But he had the nagging feeling that this was part of the test, and that he wouldn’t find another path…

Tom was deep in his thoughts when a faint shhhhh sound came from behind him. He whirled around, eyes roving over the room without finding anything… until his gaze caught a flicker of green behind a pillar. Tom zeroed in on it just in time to see the end of a snake’s tail disappear inside another corridor.

The colors were familiar, and his heart twisted. He still hadn’t avenged Medusa; in fact, he hadn’t thought of her in a long time, and for a moment he felt almost guilty. But he quickly swept the feeling aside as he launched himself after the creature. Snakes weren’t that clever but they were masters of their environment; maybe this one would know another way to the upper floors?

He skidded into the corridor just in time to see the snake disappear behind another corner. It was far away, but Tom had seen that it was also the same size as Medusa had been.

~Wait!~ he called after the reptile. ~Snake, I am a Speaker! Can we talk?~

Snakes were frightened of humans, but they were generally intrigued enough by what they called a ‘Speaker’ to cast their fear aside.  

Tom almost tripped over his own feet when he barged into another big room and found the snake just waiting there, up on a white altar of all things. A shovel was propped up against it, and Tom flicked it an uneasy glance. It was what the snake said next, though, that shook him to his core.

~Hello, Tom!~

Tom stared at the snake dumbly. No… it couldn’t be. It couldn’t be her, and yet her slim face was exactly the same, just as the yellow eyes and the brown markings on her sides…

~Medusa?~ he croaked, incredulous.

Medusa flicked her tongue out. ~You smell upset. Did something happen?~

Tom swallowed the distance separating them with lumbering steps. His hand was trembling when he reached forward, and he inhaled sharply when it made contact with the smooth, cold scales.

~You—You’re really here!~ he marveled. ~But how can you be? I saw you die! I saw you…~

Medusa pressed against his hand like she always used to do, enjoying the petting. ~I’m here because you are,~ she answered cryptically. She nosed around his pockets curiously. ~ Did you bring any treats?~

This was surreal. How could she be here, talking, breathing, solid under his fingers…? He had seen the handyman cut her in two. Despite himself, his gaze was drawn to the shovel next to them and he recoiled when he noticed the little specks of red on the blade.

What the hell is this?

~How are you alive?~ he asked. Was she a hallucination? Did — the idea made his thoughts falter — did Harry resurrect her? ~Medusa, I don’t understand anything!~

Medusa was still pressing affectionately against him, slithering up his arm and to the crook of his neck. She didn’t answer right away, and when she did, she sounded strangely anxious. ~Tom? ~ she asked. ~You won’t hurt me, right?~

He blinked at the insanity of that question. ~Why would I hurt you?~

But suddenly, he remembered. He had been the one to move her from the garden, insisting to her that it was safer in his room even though she hadn’t wanted to get in the house full of scary humans. He hadn’t listened to her and, in the end, had led her to her death. Did she think it had been intentional?

~Medusa, I…~ He owed her an apology, but the word ‘sorry’ caught in his throat, refusing to get out. ~I didn’t want you to die,~ he said instead. ~If I had known what would happen, I wouldn’t have moved you.~

~I"m not mad, Tom… ~ Medusa said. ~ But I don’t want to die again. Please say you won’t be mad at me either?~

~Why would I be mad at you?~

She stayed silent, burrowing against his neck. He pet her softly, feeling a rush of warmth at the familiar feeling despite his unease. ~Medusa?~

He felt her lithe body tense under his hands. ~I ate it, ~ she said, almost too low for Tom to hear.

~What? What did you eat?~

~I’m sorry, Tom… I didn’t know it was for you. I don’t know why I ate it, it wasn’t even prey! But… it smelled so good…~

A foreboding feeling clamped around Tom’s chest. ~Medusa, what was for me? What did you eat?~

~The key.~

He closed his eyes.

You see, Tom wasn’t an idiot. In fact, he even prided himself on his superior intelligence. At this moment, though, he cursed how fast his mind worked, cursed that he understood immediately what he had to do.

This was a test. Tom needed to get through a locked door, and Medusa had eaten the only key — of course it was the only key, the test only made sense if it was the only key. And of course , she had led him to the room with a freaking altar and the tool that had killed her last time, because this needed to be as painful and bloody tragic as possible.

How could Gellert have known? Was all this even real or a very elaborate delirium? None of it mattered against the utter revulsion he felt at what he had to do.

He had gone into this castle expecting monsters or magical obstacles. Instead it would trick him like this?!

~Tom?~ Medusa asked, coiling even more anxiously around him. ~Tom, please don’t be mad… Please don’t hurt me…~

There was a lump in his throat, and no matter how much he swallowed he couldn’t dislodge it. The shovel was standing ominously to the side.

Tom closed his burning eyes. She’s not real , he told himself. She can’t be. This is too weird, too perfect, this is a trick.

The logical thing would be to discard any emotional ties to this facsimile, this mocking imitation of Medusa, and to kill her quickly to get the key. Show that disgusting man that his manipulations didn’t work one bit and wouldn’t slow Tom down.

The only problem was, they were working. Medusa was heavy against his neck, her hiss familiar. Her anxiety was that of a fake, and yet… it still got to him.

~Tom, I don’t want to die… You don’t really need the key, right? I’m so sorry…~

Tom never had trouble killing animals. He wasn’t the kind to kill for fun, but he had opened mice and birds to peer at their innards without caring about the blood, he had broken the wings of pigeons and broken their necks to punish Harry, had been more than ready to hang Billy Stubbs’ rabbit for the same reason. For months now, he had been hurting animals and children alike just to practice his healing spells. He had never really understood why people would be disgusted by violence instead of energized by it, how they could feel a suffering that wasn’t their own.

If it had been any other snake, Tom would have already opened it up and discarded its body without a backward glance. But it wasn’t any other snake. It was Medusa .

For two years, Medusa had been the only positive, genuine relation in his life. All the rest was fake or vicious — the praises of the teachers who would curse him if they knew his real thoughts, the bland disinterest of Wool’s supervisors, the fear and hate of the other children… Only Medusa had known who Tom was and loved him for it. Snakes didn’t have the silly moral hang-ups that humans did; she had never seen anything wrong in him. Tom’s magic hadn’t frightened her, his inner violence had been seen as normal predatory behavior. For two years, she had been the only one to ask him how he was and really care for the answer.

And now, not only was she dead — murdered! — but he had to kill her himself?!

More fiercely than ever, Tom wished that Harry was here. Tom’s mind had jumped to the most morbid solution, but Harry’s brain was different. The boy saw things in another light. Maybe he could have found the solution that eluded Tom; the third option that would save the day without bloodshed. He was good at that.

But Harry wasn’t here. He wouldn’t even be able to comfort Tom once the deed was done.

Because it needs to be done , the practical and self-serving part of him said in his head. This was a test, and not killing Medusa would be seen as weakness. Tom couldn’t afford it, not if he didn’t want to die.

And there was nothing he wanted less than that.

Nothing .

Tom opened his eyes and felt his tears fall. With any luck, the pendant laying on his chest wouldn’t be able to see them.

~You’re not Medusa, ~ he said to strengthen his resolve as he grabbed the shovel.

It happened like in a daze. Tom had to force Fake-Medusa away from him as she pleaded and coiled around him. She struggled when he laid her on the altar and raised the shovel. She bit him to get away, and he clenched his teeth through the pain as he brought down the blade hard.

He closed his ears to her screams, and waited with empty eyes for her to be fully dead before tearing her open and rummaging inside. Something resembling a sob almost escaped him when his hand closed around a hard, metallic shape, but he pushed it down and his composure wasn’t broken.

He walked out with a key dripping blood on the floor, not casting another glance to the mangled remains of the snake on the white altar.

 

֍֍֍

 

The staircase only led one floor up, and Tom was once again forced to wander around to find a path to the tower. The lack of windows was a little claustrophobic, but the most annoying thing was that it messed with his sense of direction. He didn’t know where he was in the castle anymore and if he was close to the center or not.

Still, he searched mechanically, feeling removed from himself and the world around him. This daze was good, and he clung to it gratefully.

Maybe that was why it took him so long to notice that something was, once again, wrong.

The first few times he heard the hated tune, it didn’t really register. He heard the faint singing of a woman’s voice distantly, but he was so far into himself that he didn’t pay attention to it, vaguely thinking that it was just a dream. Everything was a dream.

He came crashing back into reality at the turn of a corner. He froze on the spot, staring in fright at the figure shuffling at the end of the long corridor.

It was a woman, humming a lullaby softly. Not any lullaby either; the one from Tom’s childhood that he had always hated for its taunting lyrics. The woman was too far away for Tom to really hear the words, but he knew them by heart, as it had been the favorite lullaby of that horrid foster mother when he was four.

 

"Somewhere over the rainbow

Skies are blue

And the dreams that you dare to dream

Do come true…"

 

The shadows cast by the torches put everything in a confusing puzzle of dark and light, but Tom could see the woman’s long, disheveled brown hair, the vague shape of her thin body under her pink hospital gown. She seemed to be wandering around aimlessly, singing to herself.

Meeting anyone in this castle was terrifying, but what truly made cold dread slither down Tom’s back was that, just like the song, the woman was familiar . He couldn’t say who she was, it definitely wasn’t the foster mother from before, but he still sensed that knew her somehow. That he knew her and didn’t want to remember, didn’t want to see her face. Instinctively, he knew she was the most dangerous thing he could meet in here.

He was about to back away slowly, hoping she didn’t notice him, when her head suddenly turned toward him and she did just that.

For five agonizing seconds, they stared at each other. Tom still couldn’t see her face clearly, but his heart was hammering away like it wanted to rip out of his ribcage.

Then, the woman cocked her head to the side and started to shuffle his way.

Tom couldn't help it — he yelped and fled like his life depended on it. He ran and ran, going through corridors and empty rooms at random. This castle was more like a nightmarish maze than medieval ruins, and everything looked the same. All gray stone walls with flaming torches, without a single furniture. No stairs in sight beside the ones he had come up from.

Which was why he stopped so abruptly when he barged through a doorway and, instead of the same old decor, he found himself in a bathroom.

In the bathroom.

No, this is a nightmare , he thought, his skin going clammy and cold as he looked at the full tub and blue, old-fashioned tiled wall. The altar candles were burning on the sink, their reflection shimmering on the tub water, and the smell of incense was overpowering. No, this isn’t real, this is an illusion or something… I can’t be back there!

The bathroom wasn’t exactly the same as in his memory, though. There was one glaring difference: the rounded wall on the corner which was hiding a staircase. Just as on the first floor, it was guarded by a wooden door.

Tom stared at it, knowing he was supposed to go to it, but was frozen on the spot. He was unable to take a single step forward in this bathroom; he knew that if he were to move, the only direction his feet would allow him to take would be out, out, out.

In the end, fate decided for him. The door to the bathroom clicked shut behind him, the discrete sound as loud as a shotgun going off. He whirled around.

And whimpered at the two people that just entered.

The woman was here, still in her pink hospital gown and humming that horrid lullaby. She showed no sign of lunging at Tom, only smiling dreamily at nothing, but it didn’t matter; it was too late. In the clear light of the bathroom, her face was illuminated perfectly and he could recognize her.

He had one single picture of that face, and she matched it perfectly.

"M—Mum?" he said.

Why had he fled from her earlier? If she was here, maybe she could protect him! Shield him from the man that was standing next to her and often haunted Tom’s nightmares.

"What you did to your foster mother was very naughty, Tom," Reverend Niels said, eyeing him sternly. He took a slow step forward, clutching his large silver cross as he did. "Her face might never be the same."

Tom had thought/hoped/prayed that he would never see the man again, but of course a castle of nightmarish illusions would conjure him up. Reverend Niels wasn’t particularly imposing, with his soft, bold face and small build, but Tom knew the strength his arms hid, the unshakable madness in his soul. He stepped back, trembling so bad that he feared he might crumble. "I—it wasn’t my fault!" he said, just like he did last time. "She wanted to touch me!" He turned to his mother, who was still watching Tom with a calm smile. "Mum! Please help me!"

She didn’t react. Reverend Niels shook his head sadly. "Lying is a sin, Tom. But it’s alright — it’s really not your fault. It’s the demon inside you that’s doing all these things. We’re gonna make it leave."

The man strode forward, and Tom knew exactly what was gonna happen next. He screamed, trying to bypass him — to get to the door or to his mother, he didn’t know. And he never would, as the bathroom wasn’t that large and Reverend Niels only had to take a step to the right to catch Tom in the middle.

"Let it happen, Tom," he said, heaving a little as he hoisted the boy up. "It’s all for the better, I promise. Our Father who art in Heaven. Hallowed be thy name. Thy Kingdom come, thy will be done on earth as it is in Heaven…"

He chanted his prayer as he advanced toward the tub full of water. Tom felt hysteria take possession of him —  even more now than the first time it happened, because he had already lived it once. He reached inside him to unleash his powers, the way he hadn’t known how to do at the time, but of course, nothing happened. He was cut off from his magic. He sobbed, kicking and scratching like a feral animal.

The man kneeled before the tub, still chanting as he fought to turn Tom toward it. " …let God arise and His enemies be scattered; and let them that hate Him flee before Him…!"

"MUM!" Tom screamed, arms reaching toward the woman still standing in the corner. "MUM, PLEASE!"

She smiled wider, like she was glad that Tom was addressing her but wasn’t listening to what he said. She didn’t move an inch, watching the scene unfold with serenity. Tom felt a sob wrench out of him.

The reverend finally managed to make Tom face the water. " As smoke vanisheth, so let them vanish away," he chanted, gripping the back of Tom’s neck in a steel grip. Tom struggled desperately as he was bent forward, but couldn’t shake him off. "As wax melteth before the fire, so let the wicked perish at the presence of God!"

Tom looked at the water beneath his face and saw his tears falling in little ripples on the crystalline surface. His magic was gone, his mum wouldn’t answer, his strength wasn’t enough. Heart rate skyrocketing and nearly delirious with fear, he reached for the last thing he had left — the thing that had yet to fail him and was growing dangerously close to ‘dependable’ in his mind.

HARRY!

He called with his whole being as he was plunged into the holy water, the tepid warmth engulfing his head and shoulders. It was just as terrifying as before, in this room and in the sea when Whalley had almost drowned him a few months ago. He had had a flashback to this scene then, but now it was even worse — he was reliving it for real .

Tom couldn’t help struggling even though he knew he was depleting his oxygen faster. He couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t breathe and he had to get out! HARRY! he called again in thought. Where was Harry? Harry hadn’t been there at the time, but neither had Tom’s mother. People kept appearing here out of nowhere, so why not him? Harry hated him but he wouldn’t let him die, right? Tom knew he wouldn’t, Harry wouldn’t let him get hurt…

Seconds before he would have run out of oxygen, Reverend Niels wrenched his head out of the water and Tom took a sobbing gulp of air.

"Let them become as dust before the wind ," the reverend was still chanting, " and let the Angel of the Lord straighten them. Let their way become dark and slippery… "

Tom had the time for one big breath before he was submerged again. He was kept underwater for a small eternity before being lifted out, gasping and coughing, and plunged back in again after a few seconds.

And the cycle repeated.

Again.

Again.

Again.

Again.

Tom was growing insane with fear and lack of air, his brain lost in a desperate fog. He couldn’t help but inhale some water here and there and it burned as it went down his lungs. He knew his mother was still there, because he could hear her humming each few seconds he was lifted out. The words of the lullaby were even more taunting now than they had been when his foster mother had sung them, sitting on the bed of her son and petting his head as she ignored Tom completely.

 

"Somewhere over the rainbow

Skies are blue

And the dreams that you dare to dream

Really do come true

Someday I'll wish upon a star

And wake up where the clouds are far

Behind me

Where troubles melt like lemon drops

Away above the chimney tops…"

 

She was here, but she did nothing , and Harry wasn’t coming either, and the reverend was still chanting, and…

…Tom was going to die here.

Just like last time, the certainty seeped into every cell of his body. Maybe this time, or the next, the reverend wouldn’t get him out of the water in time and Tom was going to drown. Alone and abandoned by every person who was supposed to care for him, just like it ought to be. Nobody really cared for anyone in this world after all, and certainly not for him… It was every man for themselves, he always knew it…

That’s when it happened.

As Tom had lost almost all conscious thought, reduced to a simple body fighting to live, a feeling took hold of him. A feeling like arms around him, not constricting but comforting, warm and protecting.

‘Shh, Tom. It’s gonna be alright. I’m here. It’s gonna be alright.’

The feeling of arms holding him as he was drowning shouldn’t have been helpful. Harry’s meaningless reassurances shouldn’t have soothed him when nothing else changed about the situation. And yet, on an instinctive level, Tom felt himself calm.

When he was next pulled out of the water, he took his allotted breath or air with more force and focus. When he was shoved under again, the soothing voice urged him to hold his breath, to just wait, that it was gonna pass.

‘You’ll survive, Tom. You know you’ll always survive. I’m here with you.’

On and on, the exorcism kept going. With Harry there with him, in his head if not in body, Tom managed to endure it.

When he finally passed out, the determination to live was still burning inside him, kept warm by Harry’s arms.

 

֍֍֍

 

He woke up wet and shivering in the empty tub, knowing before he opened his eyes that he was alone. Truly alone this time; Harry felt completely gone from his head, and he was sure that even if he wandered around the second floor for days, he wouldn’t find his mother or Reverend Niels again.

He wrapped his arms around himself, taking a deep, delightful breath of air. He was alive . Sure, he had survived last time too, but this fact had seemed extremely brittle as he was drowned.

Something was uncomfortably poking into his hip where he was laying, and he sat up, reaching under him.

He pulled up an ancient golden key.

Of course.

He wanted to be out of this horrid bathroom as fast as possible, but this time, he hesitated. Did he really want to go up to the next floor? Some new kind of torture was undoubtedly waiting for him there. Was this castle feeding him hallucinations, or was it somehow conjuring his worst nightmares in the flesh? How much danger was he in, really? If the fake Reverend Niels had drowned him in that tub, would Tom have died?

He didn’t even know how many more floors he was supposed to pass through before getting to the damn tower.

Tom deliberately thought of Gellert, trying to summon some anger to energize him and get him going. But it didn’t work. It seemed like all that was left in him was weariness, fear, and…

He wiped his cheeks roughly, annoyed himself.

 

Somewhere over the rainbow

Skies are blue

And the dreams that you dare to dream

Really do come true…

 

He could still recall her silly grin as she sang the tune, and wished he could feel rage at her too, but all he felt was heartbreak. She had failed him again, coming here to torture him mindlessly instead of helping…

It wasn’t her , he reminded himself. She’s been dead for almost ten years. It was an illusion or something.

The problem was, Tom didn’t trust the woman to have done anything else if she had been real. After all, her one momentous act in Tom’s life had been to abandon him. She hadn’t loved him enough to stay, and she wouldn’t have loved him enough to help.

‘Get up, Tom,’ came the voice of Harry in his head, startling him. ‘ You have to keep going.’

" I don’t want to," he said aloud. His voice was as weak and croaky as he felt.

‘Come on, Tom. You’re stronger than that. And I’ll be here with you.’

"No you’re not," Tom said hesitantly. "I’m going insane."

This is a strange place. If you decide that I’m here, then I will be. Besides, don’t you think if there was one person who could somehow reach you in thought across hundreds of kilometers, it would be me?’

This drew a half-smirk from Tom. Touché. "But still… it’s not really you, is it?"

Harry laughed in his head, a very strange experience. ‘If I tell you the truth, you won’t like the answer.’

"So it’s a no, then."

‘It’s not a no and it’s not a yes. I’m the part of Harry that you took into you.’

Tom winced at the sappy words. Harry laughed again, vindicated, and Tom felt warmed despite himself. No, it wasn’t the real Harry — the real Harry didn’t laugh that much with him — but still… his presence felt nice anyway.

And thinking on it again, taking some part of Harry into him didn’t sound so bad. It meant that a part of him would always belong to Tom.

‘Now, get up your fat ass. You still have things to do before giving hell to that Gellert man.’

"I do not have a fat ass," Tom grumbled, getting up anyway.

He reached for his wand to cast a drying charm on himself, before remembering that he didn’t have his magic here. He also remembered that he was still wearing the spying eye-locket, and flushed in both embarrassment and rage at the idea of Gellert witnessing all that had taken place.

Ah, that was the return of anger!

‘Good,’ Harry said.

Tom unlocked the door to the stairs and went up to the third floor, determined to win against whatever horror would be thrown his way next.

He didn’t land in the maze of corridors this time but right into a large, white room full of children's toys. Besides that, it was bare, but Tom recognized it right away and balked.

No! I don’t want him to see that!

He turned around in full denial to exit the room, when the door to the stairs slammed shut all on its own. Tom tried the handle, turning the key when it didn’t work, but in vain. He was locked in, the hospital door on the opposite wall the only way out.

He would undoubtedly need a key to open it, but he still turned to go and check if it was open. He stopped in his tracks after barely a step, yelling in fright.

 

"Somewhere over the rainbow

Way up high

There's a land that I heard of

Once in a lullaby…"

 

His mother was here, shuffling in the middle of the room without paying attention to Tom. And of course she was singing the freaking lullaby.

"Hell no!" Tom cursed.

The situation didn’t change, though. His mother kept singing — fake mother, fake mother , he kept reminding himself — and walking around aimlessly with that stupid smile on her face.

"What do you have to be so happy about?" Tom asked her harshly. "I thought you were so sad you killed yourself?"

 

"Someday I'll wish upon a star

And wake up where the clouds are far…"

 

She really looked exactly like the picture Tom had of her, face ugly and gaunt and hair disheveled, but lips stretched in a tired, true smile. The only difference was that she wasn’t holding Tom as a baby in her arms, and also…

The next key was hanging on a string around her neck.

Tom looked at it, rooted on the spot.

Obviously, it wouldn’t be as simple as reaching out and taking it. For one, he was a little too short, and for two, this was supposed to be a trial. Tom wondered why they were in this hospital room, where the shrinks used to peer and prod at him like a wild animal. Sure, he had hated it there, but he didn’t stay that long and they hadn’t actually mistreated him. Maybe they were there because his mum was barmy?

Feeling strangely anxious, he stepped up to the woman. "Mu—" he stopped and coughed to hide his blunder. He may have called her ‘mum’ earlier in a moment of weakness, but he had no excuse now. "Hey!" he called her instead. "I need the key around your neck."

She blinked, turning her head toward him. As soon as their eyes met, she stopped singing.

The silence was chilling.

He waited for her to say something — he would have even taken her freaking song again — but her smile simply fell slowly from her face. She was staring at him with small, hard eyes.

"Hum…" he said. "The key? Can you… give it to me?"

Good job , Tom thought to himself. Way to sound firm and confident.  

Suddenly, she recoiled, a mask of disgust upon her face. "You freak ! What are you doing here?!"

Tom’s heart froze as she looked him up and down.

"I thought I had escaped you!" she yelled. "I thought I was free, and now you come here to torment me?!"

"Mum…" Tom choked up.

A slap to the face sent him sprawling to the ground. Tom pressed his hurting cheek, lifting a shocked gaze to the woman towering above him.

"Don’t you dare call me by that name!" she spat. "Mums are for people that are loved, you fool! You aberration of nature!"

Tom couldn’t help but cower back, each word hurting like a pelting of rocks. She’s not real! She’s not real! his logical side shouted inside his head. This didn’t appease Tom. What was to say that she wouldn’t have thought the same if she had lived? After all, how else could a mother kill herself the day after her baby was born? Maybe she had known about his magic and had hated it just like everyone else—

"You think this is about your magic ?" She huffed a cruel, humorless laugh. "You stupid, stupid boy! You would be a freak with or without your powers! It’s how you were born: repulsive, monstrous, unlovable ! And to think I was supposed to stay with you? Take care of you? Never!"

Tom could only stare, paralyzed, as she stomped toward the toys on the ground. She rummaged through them until she found a little toy knife, and then she stood up. She turned, leveling a hateful look at Tom before lifting the knife to her throat.

"I’d hoped you would be dead by now," she snarled. "I hope it won’t be too long yet."

Then, she spat on the ground between them and slit her own throat.

Tom cried out, looking on in horror as fountains of blood ran out of the wound, drenching the key, the hospital gown, and the floor. His mum fell like a puppet with cut strings, the toy knife escaping her lifeless hand.

The dull plastic shouldn’t have been able to make a scratch on her, and yet here she was, laying on the floor with her face locked into a venomous mask and a sea of blood spreading out around her.

Tom screamed.

He held his head and screamed, calling for his magic to rise and destroy everything — this room, the corpse of his mother, even himself, maybe. It all needed to go away; Tom couldn’t deal with it. He couldn’t!

Nothing happened, but Tom barely noticed with the chaos inside his mind. Eyes clenched shut and body wracked with sobs, Tom curled up against the assault of horror and grief. He was so lost to it that he didn’t notice the arms or the voice right away. After a few minutes of hysterics, though, Tom tired enough for them to filter through.

‘Shh,’ invisible Harry was saying, over and over. ‘Shh, Tom, it’s okay. She wasn’t real.  None of it was. Shh…’

Except his mum really had killed herself — and probably to avoid being with him too, like Billy Stubbs had spat at him all those months ago.

‘You don’t know why she did it, Tom. Don’t go around inventing reasons,’ Harry said. His arms were wrapped around Tom, and the boy held onto their warmth like a lifeline pulling him out of the abyss. ‘This illusion was to torture you, test you. You know that. You can’t let it knock you down.’

But he had already let it; he was already down. Tom couldn’t imagine getting up and going through another of these trials. Without mentioning that he would have to take the key from the bloody neck of his mother… No, he couldn’t. He couldn’t even open his eyes for fear of seeing her corpse.

A hand was rubbing his back in soothing circles, like the real Harry had done when Medusa had died for the first time. ‘You don’t have to do it now. Just calm down. Breathe. That’s it, Tom, in and out.’

In another occasion, Tom would have been appalled to need help for a stupid emotional thing like this. This was so weak that he couldn’t even fathom. But this Harry wasn’t real, there only in his head, and no one would ever know. No one would ever know that Tom would have drowned without that hug, those quiet reassurances.

Tom would never know how long he stayed lying there, listening to Harry while the chaos abated inside his mind. He just knew that getting up and taking the key slowly went from being absolutely impossible to just a grisly task that needed to be done. Slowly, he started being aware of the spying-medallion around his neck again, of the fact that he was inside a test with his life as an outcome.  

‘Just do it,’ Harry urged him. ‘Don’t think about it, don’t stop and look.’

Tom uncurled from the hard floor, wincing in pain from how long he had held the same position. Red filled his vision, but he followed Harry’s advice and carefully didn’t think about it. He just stood up and walked to the form lying a few meters away, avoiding the puddle of red as he went.

It’s make-pretend , he thought to himself as he looked down at the form. It’s a dummy, a big doll. No one I know.

It’s red paint, he thought as he kneeled beside the form and plucked a key drenched in red from it. He had to get some on his fingers, and kept his mind blank as he wiped them on his pants.

He left the dummy without a backward glance and unlocked the door, disappearing up the stairs.

 

֍֍֍

 

The stairs were unending, going up in a tight spiral that made Tom dizzy. They just went on and on, to the point that his legs began to ache and his chest to heave.

He was so focused on not thinking that he took some time to realize what this meant.

He was in the tower!

Freaking finally!

What had Gellert said already? That he needed to see what was waiting for him in the tower, and then come back down to him. Tom prayed that the return journey wouldn’t be as eventful as the upward one.

He had to admit, though, that he was a little curious as to what he would find up there. If it was the end-goal, it probably wasn’t another trial, right? But it must be significant, for Gellert to put it as the height of his test.

He was beyond out of breath when he finally reached a door at the end of the stairs. He stared at it with some trepidation, but it had no lock. He took some time to slow his breathing, wary about what could be on the other side.

Seriously, if it was his mother again he would kill her himself .

Finally, he couldn’t delay any longer. He took the door handle and pushed.

What he found inside was, honestly, the last thing he expected in this torture castle.

"Tom! Hey!" Harry said, seated cross-legged on the floor of what looked like a round, small version of Flourish and Blotts. He had a notebook on his lap and wore the green jumper that looked pretty with his eyes.

Strangest of all, though, was the huge smile he was directing at Tom. It looked so sincere. So earnest, like he was, for real, happy to see Tom…?

"Come in!" Harry urged Tom, gesturing to the spot next to him. "You’re just in time. I’m almost finished writing everything down for you."

Tom advanced slowly, startling when the door closed itself behind him. But there was no lock, so it wasn’t a problem… Actually, this all seemed too nice to belong to this test.

He crouched next to Harry. "Writing down what?" he asked.

"Everything you want to know," Harry answered, casual, like it wasn’t a big deal. His smile to Tom was blinding; it completely transformed his face. "After all, I don’t want to hide anything from you. You’re the only one that matters."

This hit Tom like a freight train, and he suddenly knew exactly what this was. Shit, shit, shit! he thought. Gellert couldn’t see this! — it was even worse than Medusa, Reverend Niels or his mother! This wasn’t some past trauma Tom could be tortured with.

It was what he yearned for here and now.

The most dangerous thing to give to your enemy.

"After you’ve read it, do you want to duel some?" Harry asked, turning back to his notebook to scribble the end of his tale. The pages were black with ink. "I looked up an awesome spell that’s for fourth years; I’m sure we could manage it." He chuckled. "God, Tom, do you realize? We’re gonna be so much better than anyone at Hogwarts. They’re gonna be in awe! We’ll be unstoppable together!"

Tom couldn’t help but stare at this easy-going version of Harry, stuck like a fly to honey. It was so far removed from the reality that it made his heart ache. He wanted to stay here and spend time with him, take him back to London forever.

But he couldn’t forget that Gellert was watching all that happened here, and it was mortifying. It was like opening up your chest to reveal your beating heart to a sneering audience.  

Tom shook himself. He was supposed to come to the tower and see what was waiting for him there. Well, he had seen. Time to leave.

He stayed where he was.

"I don’t know what I was thinking," Harry said, frowning as he kept writing in his notebook. "You were right from the start, you know — these Muggles are so lame." He looked up, directing a worried face to Tom. "You’re not mad at me, are you? I only want to spend time with you now, I promise."

Something was lodged in Tom’s throat. He shook his head minutely.

Harry sagged in relief. "Oh, god! You’re the best." He laughed, returning to his notebook. "I certainly never should have shared my powers with them! I should have remembered that you’re the reason I was put here. I’m yours, to help and stay with."

Tom took in a sharp breath. It was his fantasy, and he knew exactly what Harry meant by ‘his powers.’ This was turning into dangerous territory. Tom didn’t know yet why Gellert’s seal on that letter had been the same as Harry’s pendant, but he didn’t want to reveal anything that could direct the man’s attention to the boy. Harry couldn’t carelessly reveal how extraordinary he was.

"I have to leave," he said to himself.

Harry looked up, face heartbroken. "What? But you just got here!"

Tom stood up, casting a longing glance to the notebook. He wanted nothing more than to read it, but following dream logic, it would probably only be gibberish. After all, this was his illusion - nothing he didn’t know could be inside.

What he knew, though, was already enough to gravely endanger Harry.

The real, fierce, and untamable one that was waiting for him in London.

"Goodbye," he said to Fake-Harry, drinking him in one last time. "It was… nice, seeing you."

"Tom, come on…!"

Tom turned toward the door. And froze.

It wasn’t the wooden door of earlier. It was the glass one of Flourish and Blotts, normally see-through enough to see Diagon Alley behind. What Tom was seeing right now, though, was mountain peaks, gray skies, and a huge drop to the ground.

"What…?" he said, baffled. He looked around the round room, but saw no other exit. "How do I go down?"

Harry sighed. He closed his notebook and got up, joining Tom by the door. "Well, how else do you want to go down? By the door."

"But…" Tom stepped closer warily, looking down by the glass. Yep, it was a fall of about 40 meters, death guaranteed or you get your money back. Even with his magic, he wouldn’t have attempted it. "Crap."

"Are you afraid?" Harry asked, sounding puzzled. "Why? Just jump."

Tom turned to him in bafflement. "Just jump?" he repeated. He barked a laugh, short and vaguely hysterical. "Oh, right! Because I’m so eager to die! I’ve endured all of this precisely to avoid it!"

Harry smiled fondly, like Tom was being a cute idiot. "Who says you’ll die?"

Tom stared at him, suddenly wary. Was the boy saying that he would resurrect him after…? But no, even then, Tom would still die first. And besides, this Harry was just an illusion, he couldn’t—

An illusion.

Tom looked at him, at the bookshop’s shelves and the see-through door. He took his head between his hands, thinking back on all the places he had been inside that castle. The windowless, unending corridors, the bathroom that appeared out of nowhere, the hospital room and the conveniently-placed staircases…

He looked up at Harry. "Is it all fake? The whole castle?"

Harry shrugged, looking happily unconcerned. "Don’t know."

But Tom had seen the castle since the moment they arrived on the mountainside, and it was all so real and solid around him now…

… just as his mother had been, and the tepid water as he drowned, and the slick body of Medusa as he rummaged through her insides for the damned key.

He closed his eyes. Had he even left Abhika’s house?

"Tom, you alright?" Harry asked.

Tom recentered himself, pushing aside the dizzy feeling taking over his mind. He turned his head to the door, to the sheer drop beside the glass.

It wasn’t real. It was all an illusion. Tom was 90% sure of it.

Still, could he risk it? 90 was too low a number for his tastes.

But Gellert’s instructions had been clear: come back down to me. And don’t make me run out of patience.

With a trembling hand, Tom grabbed the handle and slowly opened the door. A cold, furious wind immediately slipped through the crack, forcing the door open wider. It escaped Tom’s hand and went to crash against the wall while the winds invaded the room. Tom staggered, grabbing the frame of the door for support.

He clenched his eyes shut after making the mistake of looking down. God, it was suicide. The ground was so far that it seemed like it was pulling him in.

That was when Tom realized it.

He wouldn’t be able to do it.

As panic rose inside him, Tom desperately tried to think of other ways to go back down. But he knew, he just knew that jumping was what the test demanded — the final torture orchestrated by his own brain.

And he couldn’t do it. He would never be able to jump to his death like this.

Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shi—!

A warm hand took his own. He opened his eyes and turned a wild gaze to Harry, who was now standing right beside him on the gaping entryway.

"Together?" Harry offered, eyes kind. The fierce wind was flipping his hair in all directions.

Tom gulped, shaking his head. "Harry, I— I can’t…!"

Harry smiled, serene and confident. "Together, we can do anything."

Anything . The word fell like a stone inside him and Tom took an intake of air, shocked by the truth of it. Harry’s green eyes were a grounding presence, reminding Tom of his own strength, of all they had already accomplished together.

I don’t just want him as an associate , he realized, with the simplicity of a puzzle piece put falling into place. I want him as a friend

It should have been repulsive. Ridiculous. 

Instead, it felt right

Tom turned back toward the void. He wouldn’t die, he reminded himself. As long as Harry and he were together, nothing was impossible to them.

He nodded tersely. "Okay."

Harry pressed his hand harder. "One…"

Tom shivered harshly.

"Two…"

He pressed Harry’s hand back.

"Three!"

They jumped in tandem, screaming as the air swallowed them and tore at their clothes. Their hands stayed clasped together as the world flew past their eyes, and Tom felt a horrid exhilaration rise in him as the ground rushed to meet them…

A second before he would have crashed against it, the ground disappeared.

Tom opened his eyes and sat up with a scream. Gellert’s blue eyes looked down at him with satisfaction, the dark form of Nurmengard’s castle looming over them from where they were seated on the grass.

"Welcome back, Tom!” 

Chapter 15: The dreams of tomorrow

Notes:

Last time on Where You Are Needed: Grindelwald brought Tom to the ruins of Nurmengard after finding him in Abhika's shop, and made him face several difficult trials. Neither him nor the author were sorry.

Chapter Text

All this time, Tom had just been lying on the grass, unconscious.

Nothing since he had entered the castle had been real.

Tom didn’t know if he wanted to kill Gellert or weep in relief. (And with the slightest bit of mourning, when he recalled the feel of Harry’s hand in his.)

"Oh, it was very real, Tom," Gellert disagreed as Tom reluctantly drank from the hot chocolate the man had just conjured. It could have been poisoned, but Tom was too mentally exhausted to care. The wizard had just guided them to sit on the steps of Nurmengard’s front door, even pulling a freaking blanket out of thin air to wrap around Tom’s shoulders. From the way he kept pulling things out of his clothes, Tom was starting to wonder if Mary Poppins was real and this man wasn’t her dark, demented brother. "Don’t discard these experiences," Gellert continued. "The medallion created them from the contents of your own mind, and thus showed you the truth of your inner self."

God, Tom dearly hoped not. Especially considering the man had been watching.

Gellert laughed when he saw Tom’s expression. "Nobody likes to go through that," he said, playing with the medallion that had been removed from Tom’s neck. "I certainly didn’t. But it’s always useful to be aware of your inner traumas, of your greatest fears and desires."

Tom looked up at him, surprised. "You passed it too?"

"Me and all the people in my inner circle," Gellert nodded. "As I said, it’s a useful tool to get the measure of someone." He rubbed Tom’s back comfortingly, smirking when Tom shrugged him off. "Don’t think of it as mindless torture. This was a test, and, dare I say, you passed it better than most people thrice your age! You will now carry this knowledge about yourself with you, and be stronger for it."

Tom mostly wanted to bury it under infinite layers of concrete. "I guess you didn’t have to be spied on as you went through all that," he said with venom. He shuddered to think of the wizard inside his mind, privy to all of these hallucinations.

"What happened in these trials will stay between you and me, of course," Gellert said. "We don’t even have to talk about it if you don’t want to. But know that I don’t judge you for any of it." He sighed, looking forward wistfully with his elbows on his knees. "Some of my experiences were not that different from yours, you know."

Tom slid a doubtful glance toward the man.

"Actually, I was impressed," Gellert added. He turned fully toward Tom, levelling him with an intense, slightly disturbing stare. "I’ve been impressed since I saw how you healed Mrs Dhrish earlier, and everything you did since then only convinced me that my intuition was right."

Tom narrowed his eyes. "What intuition?"

Gellert cupped Tom’s cheek, making the boy recoil slightly. The man’s warm fingers slid under his chin, his eyes peering at him in a way that had Tom rooted to the spot.

"Recently, I’ve begun having visions of a boy I would take as an apprentice," Gellert finally said, pensive and yet fervent. "I could never see his face, but now I think I finally found him."

Tom’s eyebrows rose. "You’re a seer too?"

The man smiled smugly. "I am, though not an All-Seer like our beloved Mrs Dhrish. You’ll have to tell me the details of your relationship, by the way."

Tom put his mug aside and straightened, making the blanket slip from his shoulders. "I won’t have to do anything," he spat. "You think I’ll agree to be your apprentice after what you’ve done?"

Actually, Tom was a little miffed at how… tempting, the idea was. Apprentice. To a real wizard, and a powerful one by the looks of it. Not only would it make him safe from the man’s homicidal tendencies (one would hope so, anyway), but to think of all that Tom could learn from him…! Still, Tom didn’t like the idea of giving up his independence. Especially to a man so dangerous.

Tom expected Gellert to answer that Tom didn’t have any choice in the matter, but the man just nodded, thoughtful. "I guess it’s my turn to prove myself to you," he said unexpectedly. "Maybe first I should explain what I do and let you decide if you find it a worthy endeavour."

Tom couldn’t help it — he snorted. The man was clearly a criminal. Not that Tom really cared from a moral standpoint, but he doubted that his schemes could ever be labelled a ‘worthy endeavour’.

Gellert peered at him with an enigmatic smile. "What do you think I do, young Tom?"

Tom hesitated, wondering if saying the truth would anger the wizard. In the end, he hazarded a guess. "You’re… a mafia boss?"

Gellert barked a short, surprised laugh. "I can see why you would think that! You’re not far off, I’m afraid. I am indeed considered a criminal, though I didn’t choose this path for personal gain." He looked Tom in the eyes. "I am what you could call a political activist."

Tom… hadn’t expected that. He didn’t know a lot about activists, but he knew that even if they sometimes broke into buildings and destroyed property, they generally weren’t the ones to torture, maim, and murder people.

Though he guessed ‘political activist’ could be a euphemism for something else too. "Are you… a terrorist?" he asked.

Gellert’s eyebrows rose. He studied Tom in silence for a time, before saying, "I’m really glad I found you, Tom. Your mind is terrifyingly quick for your age."

Before Tom could figure out how to answer what was basically an admission of guilt, the wizard sighed and got up. He turned to face Tom and gestured to the castle behind them. "When we got here, I told you that this castle once belonged to a family that was killed some centuries ago. What I failed to mention was how, and why."

Tom glanced at the castle above his shoulder, puzzled at the change in subject. The sinister ruins looked like they belonged in a dark fairytale, and he shivered at the thought of all he had lived inside. It may have been in hallucinations, but he could still feel it in his flesh and bones.

"The inhabitants of Nurmengard were wizards and witches," Gellert said, tone grave. "Their name is now lost to time, but not the reason for their extermination." The man gritted his teeth, looking at the castle in sadness and anger. " Muggles ," he spat. "Muggles and their fear, and the barbarity it creates. They couldn’t abide the thought of people more powerful than them, and so they killed them."

Tom felt a chill that had nothing to do with the wind. He remembered the hateful stares of Wool’s children, the coarse hands of Reverend Niels as he held him underwater, and found that he could believe Gellert’s words far too easily.

"Why didn’t they defend themselves?" he asked.

The wizard looked down at him, his serious gaze pulling Tom in and almost making him forget the bad blood between them.

"They probably tried," Gellert said. "You see, Tom, you mustn’t believe the dangerous rhetoric that Muggle-lovers like to spread around nowadays. That the witch-hunts didn’t kill any true witch or wizard, that they could always escape unscathed with some spell or another. That muggles are harmless and can’t possibly do any real harm to any of us." He scoffed bitterly. "I ask this of you, Tom: if it was true, then why did all the magical governments in the world — who can usually never agree on anything, who were often at war with each other — suddenly come together to implement the statute of secrecy?"

Tom had read a little about this time in history, but not too deeply. "There were different sides, and the ones who didn’t want war against the muggles won?"

"Indeed. And do you know why they didn’t want war? Why we have been reduced to hiding in reserves like protected animals while the Muggles get the rest of the world?"

Tom opened his mouth, and closed it. To be frank, that decision had never made much sense to him. Why not simply take control? They were more powerful!

Tom’s silence must have been proof enough of his ignorance. The man answered his own question:

"Because we weren’t sure we would win."

Tom scowled, everything in him rejecting those words.

"Ah! You don’t believe me, I can see it," the man said. "And yet, look at the ruins of Nurmengard behind you. I can assure you that this tragedy wasn’t the only one in the thousands of years before the implementation of the statute of secrecy." He looked at the ruins himself, sombre and thoughtful. After a while, he asked, "Have you, by chance, ever looked at a Muggle documentary movie on ants?”

Tom narrowed his eyes, knowing where it was going. "Maybe…"

"Then maybe you’ll be able to tell me how it is possible for some species of ants to kill and devour a human being in less than fifteen minutes?"

"There’s a lot of them…" he said, reticent. "But we have magic, we—!"

"And for ants, human beings might as well have magic too," the man countered. "We’re immense, we can crush dozens of them in a single step, and yet… and yet it’s not enough. No matter how many ants you can kill, there are thousands more to take their place. In the face of sheer numbers, power is not enough, Tom."

Tom gulped, and the man sighed. "In olden times, when there were less humans on this planet, a war between wizards and muggles might have been won more easily. But it is no coincidence that the statute of secrecy was signed in 1689. For more than a thousand years before, the world’s population had barely increased, but suddenly, by the middle of the 17th century, there was a boom on the muggle side.

"In less than a century, the muggle population doubled. Their medicine got better, their weapons deadlier. They discovered cannon powder and coal, they started crafting machines. They had already been capable of extinguishing entire magical lines when they were armed only with torches and pitchforks, Tom. Now there were more of them, and they were even more efficient than before. We, in the meantime, hadn’t gotten much better at magic, nor did our numbers increase. Do you know the percentage of the world population we represent, now?"

The icy blue stare of the man made dread unfurl in Tom’s stomach. He shook his head.

"0.007%," Gellert enunciated clearly.

Tom’s breath went out like it had been punched out of him. He was feeling the ground crumble under his feet. "No…" he said. "It can’t be right… There can’t be so few of us…"

The wizard shook his head grimly. "There are barely more than 500,000 wizards worldwide. And roughly a fifth of that number is composed of muggleborns — muggle- raised , who wouldn’t necessarily side with us in a war."

The blond took a deep breath, and then concluded what he had started to say since they arrived here:

"The reason we chose to go into hiding 300 hundred years ago is simple, Tom. It’s because if all-out war had broken and the muggles had won, then we were looking at complete annihilation."

Tom’s head was spinning, his feeling of dread taking root. Never had he realised how vulnerable they were. ’Hiding like protected animals’? Ha! That’s not even a metaphor at this point.

"Why are you telling me all this?" he breathed.

The man stared at him for a long time. Then he said: "You are muggleborn, aren’t you?"

Tom glared, crossing his arms defensively. "No I’m not!"

The man raised a blond eyebrow. "I think you are."

"I’m an orphan!" Tom spat, disgusted with where this conversation was going. "I don’t know who my father is. But I know he must have been a wizard, he had to be…!"

The man lifted a hand. "Being muggleborn is not a defect or a vice," he said in a placating tone. "Magic doesn’t care — only bigoted fools still try to pretend otherwise. No, the problem with muggleborns is not how they are born, but how they are raised."

Tom was more and more incensed, understanding perfectly what the man was getting at. "You think I would side with them?! You saw what I went through in your little test! Believe me, if you were forced to live among them you would hate them all the more!"

"I believe you," Gellert said in a placating tone. "But for one child who recognizes the truth, how many are too attached to their Muggle roots?"

An image of Harry laughing with his Muggle friends flashed in front of Tom’s eyes, and he felt uneasy.

Gellert shrugged. "I don’t hate Muggles, you know. I just know that they are a danger to us, and to the world at large." He narrowed his eyes, leaving only two icy blue slits visible. "As time passes, they only grow more and more powerful even though their wisdom level stays the same… Before, they were only able to kill some of us. Now, they have developed a technology so potent, so ubiquitous, that they might as well have their own form of magic."

Tom hated the idea that this could have any shred of truth. And yet, he couldn’t help but think of the internet, of electricity, of spatial travel and quantum physics and DNA recombination. Muggles had discovered how to achieve things with science that he wasn’t even sure wizards could do yet. They were powerful, to a worrying degree.

"With their instant recording and broadcasting abilities, it’s only a matter of time before they discover our existence," continued the man. "I’m surprised we even held on that long. And even if them finding out about magic wasn’t a concern, the way they will make the Earth unlivable in a few years’ time would be."

He bent forward, and this time, Tom didn’t flinch when Gellert gently raised his chin. He was looking at the boy with burning conviction. "The only way for children like you to have a future is for us to take control. War is unavoidable. We are already in the middle of a siege, but sadly, only a few of us are aware of it. If we don’t strike first as a united front before the other side realises the situation, then we will lose everything. Do you understand?"

Tom did, and he was filled with a cold fright that even the Warpers couldn’t elicit. Nobody in the books he had read talked like that, by laying down the hard facts and looking at it unwaveringly.

"So you’re leading the war," he said in a small voice.

"I’m preparing us for it as best as I can," Gellert said, straightening. "The blind fools running most of the magical governments on Earth label me a criminal for it — a terrorist — but what I do, I do for the greater good."

Blind fools wouldn’t be the only ones labelling the man a criminal, though. "Abhika…" Tom started.

Gellert sighed. "Miss Dhrish is a resource that we need to use. I regret having to push her so hard — I do. But sacrifices are necessary in this war, and we can’t hesitate to make them. Miss Dhrish couldn’t be convinced to join our survival effort on her own, so she had to be forced and kept on a tight leash."

Tom threw a challenging glare at the man. "And me too, if I say no to being your apprentice?"

Gellert smiled sadly. "No, Tom. Mentor and apprentice is too sacred a relationship to uphold by force. Besides, I value your intelligence above that of Miss Dhrish. If you say no, then I’ll put you under a vow of silence and come back in a few years to make you my offer again." There was regard in his eyes as he looked at Tom. "I trust that whether you’ll choose to work with me or not, you’ll be a valuable asset to the wizarding world."

Tom blinked, the wind taken out of his sails. He hated the idea of being forced into a vow, but it was still leagues better than dying or being made into a slave like Abhika… On the other hand, though, was it really worth it? What Gellert said made sense. In truth, this offer could be an incredible opportunity for Tom. Maybe it was even what his Destiny was about — one day becoming greater than his Mentor, bringing about a golden age for wizardkind.

"Would I have to do illegal things if I become your apprentice?" Tom asked warily. He had no intention to get arrested for someone else’s plans.

Gellert smirked, like he was pleased by Tom’s question. "I may teach you some… controversial magic, but you won’t be part of any missions yet. I’m sure when you grow older, you’ll ask me to contribute of your own volition."

Bugger! Tom was more and more tempted. Learning controversial magic was actually a draw more than a repellant. But could he really take the risk of embroiling himself with someone so ruthless? So cold, cruel, deadly? The power imbalance between them was truly worrying. If Gellert decided one day to add Tom to his pile of bodies, the boy wouldn't be able to do much to defend himself.

Tom startled, pulled out of his thoughts when Gellert put a hand on his shoulder. The man’s smirk had disappeared in favour of a more sober expression "If you accept, Tom, I will be taking our relationship seriously. It means that I will expect hard work from you, yes, but also that I will vow to teach and protect you." His hand squeezed Tom’s shoulder, his eyes earnest. "I waited for you a long time. It won’t be to discard you at the first opportunity."

He really thinks I’m the apprentice he saw in his visions, Tom realised. This meant something to the man, though Tom couldn’t yet guess to what extent. But maybe it would bring Tom more power in their relationship.

If he did decide to let them have one.

Gellert offered his hand for Tom to take. "Well, Tom?" he asked solemnly. "Do you accept to be my apprentice?"

Tom stared at the hand, pulled between temptation and wariness. All that the man had said replayed in his mind, as well as the terrible things he had done. If Tom accepted, he couldn’t let himself be fooled into a false sense of security — this was a very dangerous man, one he knew next to nothing about, and would maybe end up opposing some years later. Tom agreed with the wizard’s goal, but he would never be a mindless minion. He could recognize the desire for absolute control in Gellert, and knew the chances were high for them to clash down the line.

But to gain the power to clash with such a wizard, Tom would need knowledge. Power. Connections.

All things that Gellert could bring him.

He could almost feel the push of Destiny urging him forward. Was it what would make him great? Would this be his gravest mistake?

There was only one way to find out.

Tom clasped Gellert’s hand. "I accept."

Coils of golden light shot out of their joined hands and swirled around them, illuminating Gellert’s delighted grin.

Watching over the scene, Fate rubbed its hands.

                  

֍֍֍

 

Harry awoke on the 31st of October feeling strangely good. It was like each of his cells was thrumming with power. Like he wasn’t confined to the limits of his body anymore but connected to the air, to the earth, to the souls all around him — to the universe.

He stretched with a smile, opening his eyes…

There was an old lady staring down at him from the end of his bed.

"HAAA!" he shouted, sitting up hurriedly.

The woman didn’t seem fazed by his reaction. She kept peering at him from behind her tortoiseshell glasses, looking strangely regal considering how she was dressed. A white woollen shawl with badly made panda faces — or maybe they were raccoons? — was hanging from her shoulders. She also had a knitted scarf, mittens, slippers, and a beanie, all with garish colours and large, awkward stitches.

Harry guessed she had made it all herself, seeing as she pointed at him with knitting needles next. "Tell my granddaughter that I’m looking over her," she said. "Amelia Fisher. Also tell her that her father’s an ass, and to not listen to him."

"I…" Harry looked around the dorm, finding it empty. The clock on the opposite wall read ten o’clock; the others must be down for breakfast. It was later during the school holidays. "Who… are you?"

The woman scowled. " Amelia Fisher’s grandmother, " she said, looking irritated to repeat herself. "Will you tell her?"

Harry blinked. "Why don’t you—"

…do it yourself, he was about to say when he noticed something very strange about the woman.

Through her body, he could see the faint outline of the beds behind.

Oh, shit. "You’re a ghost?" Harry asked in a feeble voice.

If possible, the woman scowled even further. "Of course not! I’m a spirit, sir. I thought you’d been doing this for some time?"

"Doing what?" Harry breathed. And sir ?

The old lady sighed explosively. "Ah, forget it! Just tell her, alright? Amelia Fisher. And remind her to brush her teeth more often while you’re at it. I see her faking it to the supervisors."

And before Harry could answer anything, the woman became translucent and then she was gone.

Harry rubbed his eyes incredulously. What. The. Hell.

It turned out that he wasn’t at the end of his surprises. While he was showering, still feeling strangely energised and connected to every drop of water, another spirit showed up. Harry squealed and slipped on the wet tiles, making the man apologise profusely. Before giving him another message to pass, this time to his nephew.

By the time Harry arrived in the dining hall to get what remained of breakfast, he had been accosted two more times, one of them by a dog. The animal — some breed of herding dog — entered the room with Harry and trotted up to a teenage girl who was talking with her friends at one of the tables. The dog rubbed its face against her thigh while wagging its tail, and for a moment, the girl looked down in mild confusion. But she just massaged her leg and turned back to her conversation.

The dog wasn’t the only spirit around. A handful of children also had adults or pets near them that no one seemed able to see. Some were really translucent, others almost solid, but if you looked at them closely enough, you could always make out the scenery behind.

"Harry? You good?"

Eric’s voice cut through Harry’s daze and he turned, finding his friends seated at a table nearby.

And not only his friends.

Harry walked to them on autopilot, eyeing the beautiful, diaphanous woman petting Amy’s hair and the old man in tweed smoking a pipe next to Jack. Billy, of all things, had a squirrel on his shoulder.

Harry sat heavily.

"What’s wrong?" Dennis asked, peering at Harry with a frown.

Harry couldn’t help but chuckle. "I guess Halloween really is not a joke, huh."

His friends shared puzzled glances.

Harry rubbed his face and then faced Amy. "Did you know a blond woman who died?" he asked her directly. "A… pretty woman, with red lipstick and a black leather jacket?" He glanced at the woman, who winked at him. Harry noticed then that she had a motorcycle helmet hanging from her elbow. "Someone who rode motorcycles?"

Amy paled, gaping at him. "W—why are you asking me that?" she asked in a small voice.

The woman had the same hair as Amy, Harry realised. She also had the same blue gaze and upturned nose.

Oh, Amy, he thought in sorrow. Harry wasn’t aware of why most of his friends were in the Children’s Home, everyone tacitly avoiding this painful subject. Only Dennis had really talked about it with him.

"She’s standing behind you," Harry confessed. The woman smiled at him, continuing to pet Amy’s ponytail.

Amy whirled around, eyes wide. "Wha—?"

"You can’t see her," Harry said regretfully, “but I swear she’s here. She’s smiling and petting your hair."

Everyone had frozen around the table, staring at Harry in disbelief. Amy’s eyes filled with tears, looking lost and overwhelmed. "I… How…?" she said.

Harry looked around the room. Some of the spirits met his eyes and nodded or smiled. "There are spirits all around. I think because it’s Halloween, they came to see their loved ones."

Amy was barely breathing, staring at Harry like she had never seen him before. "You’re serious?" she whispered. "This isn’t a joke?"

Harry gulped at the intensity of her gaze. "I promise."

Amy choked on a sob, burying her face in her hands. "Oh my god! Oh my god!" Jack raised a tentative hand toward her, but the girl let her hands drop almost immediately, looking around in desperation. "Where is she? Is— is she saying anything?"

For the first time, something like sadness passed over the woman’s face. She shook her head.

"She’s still behind you, on your left. But… I think she can’t speak." He noticed how unsubstantial the blond seemed, far more than the spirits who had accosted him to speak. "I think she’s not strong enough for that."

"Mum!" Amy sobbed, eyes roaming somewhere near the woman’s chest. She lifted a hand, which passed neatly through the spirit’s stomach. "Mum, oh Mum!"

Amy was crying heavily now, and drawing the eye of the nearest tables. Harry glared at them and they turned around as if burned. It was none of their business.

"She’s hugging you," he said to Amy as the woman kneeled and took Amy in her arms.

Amy was reaching at empty air. "I—!" she hiccuped in anguish. "I can’t feel her!"

There was an intake of breath next to Harry, and when he looked, he saw that Billy was watching the scene with tears in his eyes. All the others seemed equally upset.

"You can’t feel her, but I promise she’s here," Harry said, feeling his own throat close up. "She came just for you."

Amy wrapped her arms around herself and closed her eyes, a strange, bittersweet smile playing on her lips.

Seeing how distraught this had made everyone, Harry wondered if he should talk about the old man in tweed and the squirrel. In the end, he decided that he didn’t have the right to hide it from them, and explained what he saw to Jack and Billy.

Luckily, they took it far better than Amy. Jack bounced on his chair with excitement, revealing that the man was probably his grandfather who had died two years ago. Billy smiled tenderly at his shoulder, tears running down his cheeks like waterfalls.

"It’s Squeaky, the squirrel I healed when I was little. He disappeared from the garden one day… I always wondered what happened to him."

Jack had a thousand questions about ghosts and the afterlife, but Harry had rounds of messages to pass, so he stole one of Eric’s buns from his tray for breakfast and went to find Amelia Fisher.

In retrospect, it would probably have been better to deliver the messages in private. Soon, word spread of what he was doing and he became the attraction of the dining hall. Children sought him out or fled from him as he went from one person to the other. A lot of people were crying, others comforting them while staring at Harry with awed, frightened eyes.

It was strangely cathartic to connect all these children to their loved ones. A majority of spirits were weak and couldn’t speak, but when the children asked if someone was with them, Harry answered truthfully with a description. The spirits were recognized almost every time, and though the children were shocked, overwhelmed, and a little afraid, Harry could also see how happy it made them.

Saddest were the children accosting him without any spirit near them. Harry was then forced to explain that not all spirits could come to their plane. He didn’t know how he knew that, but he instinctively did.

It felt… right, to do this.

I wonder if Tom has someone with him, he thought at some point. The boy wasn’t in the dining hall, as was to be expected. He was rarely around these days. Still… Billy once said that his mother killed herself. Would it be a good idea to find the boy and see if someone had come to visit him? Or would it be too much for him to handle?

Before Harry could decide what to do, a heavy hand ended up dropping on his shoulder. He turned to see the furious face of Mrs Cole.

"In my office. Now."

Guess he really hadn’t been discreet.

The chewing out that ensued was the worst one Harry had suffered until now. Mrs Cole paced her office, screaming her lungs out for almost half an hour. It helped that Harry was sure he hadn’t done anything wrong today, but it was still a harrowing experience. Especially since he could see that this time, Mrs Cole wasn’t just angry with him — she was genuinely upset. The word "cruel" repeatedly got out of her mouth, slashing at Harry’s heart like a knife.

"I didn’t think you had it in you, Harry," she said, shaking her head with abject disappointment. "Inventing stories just to toy with people’s feelings like that… Do you have any idea of the damage you’ve done?"

Harry hated not being able to defend himself. He wanted to tell her that he hadn’t done this to joke at people’s expense, that it was real… The spirit of the teenager in baggy clothes who was hovering near Mrs Cole and wincing at Harry in sympathy would have made it easy.

But he couldn’t risk revealing that to an adult. And he guessed that when you didn’t know about magic, all of this did seem like a horrible joke.

When you do know about magic, too, a voice whispered at the back of his mind. Regular wizards weren’t supposed to be able to talk to the dead — not unless they were ghosts.

"I… just wanted to make them feel better," he said lamely.

"Make them feel better ?" Mrs Cole repeated in contained rage. "Half the children here are now terrified because they think ghosts exist! The others have been reminded of the worst times in their life! This was incredibly thoughtless, incredibly cruel. I don’t even know what punishment to give you, this is so outlandish! But be assured — there will be a punishment. First, though, you’ll apologise to everyone and confess that you invented it all."

Harry cringed as did his rounds again, this time with Mrs Cole standing next to him like a pissed off prison guard. Some children were confused. Most, though, looked at the director like they knew what she was trying to do. They didn’t seem to fall for Harry’s turn-around, and reasonably so. He had, after all, been very specific in his descriptions of spirits.

"But he knew my grandpa had a three-legged ginger cat!" a little girl of barely six years old exclaimed when it was her turn.

She wasn’t the only one to say this kind of thing, and by the end of it, Mrs Cole was looking at Harry with half-tired, half-puzzled eyes. Luckily, Harry suspected that short of him telling her about the teenager following her around, she would never allow herself to even consider that Harry could have said the truth. Tom would have been livid if Harry had managed to out the magical world just to give heartwarming messages to some children.

The spirits never seemed to stay long, but waves of them kept coming regularly throughout the morning, some of them finding Harry to relay messages. Harry did so in secret this time, though everyone turned to him as soon as he entered a room, looking like they thought he was some kind of frightening deity. Even the adults had picked up on it, some glaring sternly at him for his "bad joke," others looking more contemplative, like Percy for example.

Harry didn’t go out of his way to tell people of their visiting spirits anymore, though. He kinda regretted having told Amy, who had locked herself in her dorm room with some girl friends. By the beginning of the afternoon, she still hadn’t reappeared.

"Her mother was a biker," explained Dennis, who always knew everything about everyone. "She died in a motorcycle accident when Amy was little. Now she only has her and Allison’s dad. He’s nice, but he doesn’t really know how to be a dad, I think."

The blond boy said all this distractedly, staring at the front door of Wool’s. Harry and him were currently waiting in the hall for his sister Miranda and her foster mother to arrive. Mrs Cole had cleared Dennis to go trick-or-treating with them.

This would be the first time Dennis saw his four-year-old sister in a year, and he kept fidgeting with the golden stars sewn on his purple wizard outfit. (Harry’s friends had found it hilarious to dress him up like that, and Harry had to admit that the garish costume wasn’t that far off from what you could spot in the streets of Diagon.)

Harry was raking his brain to find something reassuring to say when Dennis talked first. "You’re passing the messages of everyone today," he said, peering at Harry. "But did anyone come to visit you?"

Harry blinked, taken aback. He was so used to having no one outside of Wool’s that he hadn’t even expected a visit. But he knew since the cave that someone he knew before had died… Now that Dennis pointed it out, it was a little depressing. "No," he confessed.

Dennis threw him a look akin to pity. "If I was dead, I would come to see you," he said.

Harry hadn’t seen this one coming and he flinched, casting a dirty look to Dennis. "That’s not helping," he said with heat.

Infuriatingly, Dennis just rolled his eyes. He went back to staring at the door.

The silence grew between them, until Harry couldn’t resist asking, "Do you still want to…?" He deflated. "I thought you were doing better."

"I am," Dennis said. "I guess life is okay, now, especially if Riddle gives me back my legs. But… Well, I’m still not sure." He shrugged. "I guess I don’t really have a motivation to go on, you know?"

Harry wanted to facepalm and shake his friend at the same time. "You don’t need a motivation to live, Dennis! Just… live, take your life as it comes, simple as that."

The look Dennis sent him was doubtful. After a time, the boy just turned and said, "Whatever."

Harry wanted to continue the conversation, but that’s when a heavyset woman entered Wool’s, holding a small, reddish-haired girl by the hand. The adults must have consulted each other, because the four year-old was dressed as a witch, matching Dennis’s outfit.   

Martha, who had been busy at the desk, immediately got up to greet them. "Hello, there!" she chirped. "Look, Dennis, your sister is here!"

Dennis was rigid in his seat, staring at the little girl with wide eyes. Harry patted him on the shoulder. "Come on, let’s say hello," he whispered to his friend.

Dennis threw him a panicked look when Harry got behind the wheelchair and rolled it forward. He wasn’t the only one being shy, though; Miranda was half-hiding behind her foster mother’s legs, spying on Dennis in a way she probably thought was sneaky.

Harry stopped Dennis a meter from the others.

"Hello, Dennis!" the huge woman said, her voice just as mighty as her body. "Do you remember me?"

"Yes," Dennis said faintly, not looking away from his sister.

The foster mother grabbed Miranda’s shoulder and urged her forward. "Come on, sweetie! Say hello to your brother!"

"Hey, Mindie," Dennis said in a strangled voice.

The girl’s eyes widened comically when Dennis addressed her. She turned to her foster mother. "Mum?" she whispered, making Dennis’s face tick unpleasantly. "It’s Dani?"

"Yes it is! Say hello, now, dear!"

Miranda didn’t, instead looking at Dennis’s wheelchair in curiosity. "Mum said you can’t walk now?" she asked in a small voice.

"We explained it to her," the foster mother said.

Dennis flicked a glance at Harry. "I can’t for now," he said to his sister. "Maybe I will heal later."

Martha and the foster mother shared a sad look.

Martha cleared her throat. "Anyway!" she exclaimed with false cheer. "Are you kids ready to go trick-or-treating?"

Miranda smiled tentatively. "Yes!" She turned to Dennis, shy but eager, and held out a cloth bag. "I brought a bag for you, so you can put your candies in it!"

For a moment, Dennis looked overwhelmed with emotion. When he finally took the bag, his eyes were suspiciously wet. "Thanks, Mandie. I’m glad you thought about me."

The girl beamed, reserve slipping away. "I’m glad we’re both witches!"

The foster mother patted the girl’s shoulder with an awkward laugh. "Dennis is dressed as a wizard, sweetie. He’s a boy." She turned to Martha, rolling her eyes good-naturedly. "I keep telling her, but…"

Dennis raised his chin almost defiantly. "How do you know?" he asked rebelliously. "In fact, Mindie’s right. I’m dressed as a witch." His hand dived into his pocket and he got out the thin stick Billy had picked out for him in the yard. "Look, Mindie, I even have a wand!"

Miranda cried out in delight and finally breached the distance separating her from her brother. The foster mother seemed vaguely put out, but Martha was grinning at the siblings. "Come on, kids!" she said, getting behind Dennis' wheelchair and rolling him toward the door. "Let’s go scare some good folks!"

Dennis and his sister were already playing with the fake wand before the group got to the door, and Harry watched them go with a warm feeling inside.

              

֍֍֍

 

The rest of the afternoon passed in the same way the morning had gone, getting visits from spirits and relaying their messages. He still felt these vibrating, delightful waves of power inside him, and honestly, it had been difficult to refrain from doing magic all day. He was so in touch with his magic that he was sure he could have done wandless, spelless magic shockingly easily.  

Still, there had been no time. By the time night fell and they got their afternoon snack, Harry had been running up and down all day and was getting a little ragged. He sat on the steps of the yard for a moment, hoping to have some time to himself before he would go to check on Amy.

"Lucky Halloween’s not everyday," he huffed, his breath foggy in the cold air.

"Indeed," said a voice inside his head. "But it is pleasing too, isn’t it? Feel how powerful we are today."

Harry froze, the hairs at the back of his neck standing on end. He looked around the dark yard, illuminated only by the yellow glow of the porch lights, but even though he couldn’t see anything, he could feel someone with him.

Or rather, something. Something dark and cold, vast like space itself.

"Death," he breathed aloud.

"Harry," Death answered.

God. It had been months now, Harry had almost managed to convince himself that he had dreamed the entity, but now It dropped by like no time had passed at all! What… "What are you doing here?" he asked in thought.

"I stayed away like you asked, " Death said. Harry had the absurd impression that It was shuffling Its energy around, getting comfortable out here in the yard. "But I couldn’t not come by to see you during the Bridging."

Harry had no reason to know what a ‘Bridging’ was, and yet the knowledge was as instinctive as his own name. Bridging was what Death called the short time when the boundary between Its plane and the mortal plane thinned. It was a time of great power, where magic was high and things could have several states at the same time.

Alive. Dead. Here and not here. Impossible and yet possible.

Oh , Harry thought. He suddenly understood why he was feeling so powerful. Well, understood… What did the Bridging have anything to do with him?

"How is your Design going?" Death asked, so conversational that it was threatening to break Harry’s mind. "You noticed that Fate is already rearranging events against you, I suppose. I reaped a Soul severed by Its guardians a few months back. I could tell you had been there. How did they find you?"

This chat was above Harry paygrade. Fate’s guardians? Harry had never met them. He would remember it, especially if they had killed someone when he was there—

Wait. He had met some very strange beings that had killed a man some months ago.

Their call echoed in his head and he shivered. ‘Infringer!’

Shit. Was this what the Warpers had been? Was his former self actually opposing Fate itself? What the hell had he been up to in his previous life? He was only nine years old, for God’s sake!

"Harry?" Death asked when he didn’t answer.

"Huh… yeah," he thought evasively. "Design’s going okay."

He had no idea what Death was talking about. Trouble was, he had already pretended to know so he could bring Dennis back, so he couldn’t very well go back on it now.

"Really? " Death seemed frankly surprised. "Maybe you were right and this change in strategy was a good idea, after all."

Harry really wished his former self had left him a manual of instructions. Amnesia was hard enough without being embroiled in interdimensional fights with concepts like Fate and Death.

Suddenly, it was like he was wrapped in an embrace — Death was coiled around him, infinitely cold and yet so comfortable, like touching It was a return to the natural order of things. "Feel it," Death whispered eagerly in his head. "Feel the world blurring, merging. Today, the laws bend and everything is possible."

Like taking a child by the hand, Death was directing Harry’s focus outward. Harry reached out and gasped.

He had felt energised, connected to the universe all day, but it had been nothing. Suddenly, he was the universe — all of the universe. He could feel the different planes joined together like soap bubbles, their usually strong boundaries thinning, weakening and letting pass all sorts of things. Magic. Souls. Energy.

He could pinpoint every Soul that had crossed the veil to visit down here, could actually feel the immortal plane like it was a step away from him and not firmly separated like always.

Harry and Death basked in this feeling of completeness for an indeterminate amount of time, until he felt himself tugged in a particular direction. He followed out of curiosity, and landed in what looked like a white, ethereal train station.

Harry gasped, looking at all the spirits going to and fro, boarding trains or — a peculiarity of the date — actually descending from them. This place felt so familiar it was uncanny. Harry was sure he had been there before.

"Hello, Harry," a Soul said.

Harry turned around. What waited behind him brought an icy chill down his spine.

It was himself. Or it at least looked terribly like it, the boy sharing his messy mop of dark hair, his green eyes, his size… it even wore the blue pyjamas that Harry had had on him when he arrived at Wool’s all those months ago.

"What…" Harry breathed.

Other-Harry smiled. "When I felt you wandering, I took the opportunity to come down here. I’m not strong enough to travel to the mortal plane, you see."

"You…" Harry spluttered. "You are…"

"I’m the original Harry, yes," his double confirmed, like it thought Harry had been about to say that. "Well, the one from this world, I mean."

Harry felt faint, these words draining him of substance. The original Harry? Meaning Harry himself was… what?

‘Infringer!’ echoed again in his head.

"I just wanted to clear some things before I move on to my next life," So-Called-Original-Harry said. He looked at Harry eagerly. "I’m glad you came to fill my place. I know you don’t want to follow the fated path, and that’s alright. Death told me of your plan, and I approve. I just—" He hesitated. "I just wanted to put a word in for my family. I know they’re not yours, and I don’t expect you to act as if they were. But remember that the people you knew in your world aren’t that different from the ones in mine. It’s okay if you don’t want a relationship with them, but please…" He smiled hopefully. "Keep them in mind when you make your plans. Look after them, even if from afar. They matter to me, and if you take my place, they should matter to you too."

Harry could only boggle at the boy. Take his place? Family? Harry’s world?

He opened his mouth — to say what, he had no idea — when the train station suddenly blurred as he was tugged backwards. He recognized the cold, familiar touch of Death.

"Harry," It said. "Someone is talking to you."

Yeah, no shit, Harry thought for himself. But Death was already pushing him away from the station. The other Harry was fading fast, but he still had time to yell, "Will you do it?"

Harry wasn’t sure exactly what he was supposed to do, but leaving his double hanging felt unbearable. He knew, from some unknown place, that he would never see him again.

So he yelled back: "Yes!"

A second later, Harry fell back into his body, slumped on the cold steps of the yard.

"—rry! Wake up , wake up, please! Oh no…!"

Going back to the physical world, to only feel the outer edges of the universe through his limited body, was beyond disorienting. He blinked his eyes open, chest heaving.

There was the blurry shell of a Soul crouched in front of him. Harry could recognize its anxious vibrations faster than its voice.

"Harry!" Billy cried in relief. "Oh, God, you’re awake!" The boy helped Harry to sit up. "I came to check outside and you were just lying there, all pale and cold!"

Harry’s vision slowly adjusted to his friend’s fear-stricken face, and embarrassment rose inside him. "I’m alright," he said, voice cracking. "Everything’s fine."

"What happened?!" Billy’s eyes were roving all over him, apparently trying to find an injury.

"No, no, really, I’m alright," Harry insisted. "It’s normal."

"Normal?" Billy squeaked. "You looked like you were dead!"

Harry felt a wry smile tug at his lips. He couldn’t feel them in the cold. "I wasn’t," he reassured his friend. "I was just… communing, I guess." When Billy returned him a blank stare, Harry added, "With the universe."

Billy’s stare stayed the same.

"This is a special night," Harry explained awkwardly.

Billy was still boggling, so Harry sighed, scratching his head. "You, hum… were searching for me?"

"Yeees…" Billy said slowly. Then, he shook himself. "Yes," he said more firmly, shooting to his feet. "Actually, you really need to come! Dennis is with his sister, and Riddle is there. It’s like, a code red!"

Harry jolted upright. Dennis, his sister, and Riddle? Harry couldn’t imagine this combination ending well, in any universe. "Okay, let’s go!"

It took a minute for Harry to get the coordination back in his legs, but once he did, Billy led him at a run toward Dennis’s room. The spirit of a firefighter made to approach Harry in one of the hallways, but Harry brushed him off with an apologetic look. He didn’t have the time.

It turned out it was already too late; when they got near Dennis’s door, they could hear echoes of raised voices.

"Shit," Harry cursed.

He opened the door and came face to face with a crying Miranda, a furious Dennis, and a darkly vindicated Riddle.

"—out!" Dennis was shouting, red in the face and holding Miranda against him. "Get away from her, you freak!"

Riddle raised an eyebrow, expression sweetly dangerous. "You really want to talk to me that way? I think you forget what I could do to you. Or… not do."

 Harry had been ready to dive into the fray, but he stopped short when he saw Riddle, actually causing Billy to bump into his back.

Tom was… there was something wrong with him. He was sickly pale and holding himself with his arms crossed, tiredness and tension hanging from his frame. His eyes were darker than usual, deeper set, and as Harry looked, he saw the boy’s hands shaking a little.

"Tom?" he blurted out. "Are you alright?"

This was the wrong thing to say in front of Dennis, who shot an outraged look at Harry above his crying sister. But Harry couldn’t look away from Tom, who turned toward him in surprise.

For a second as their eyes met, an incredible, yearning vulnerability passed in Tom’s gaze. He looked at Harry intensely, like he was going to cry or run into his arms.

A second later, Tom gulped and his face shuttered. "Fine," he said, holding himself even stiffer than before.

Harry wasn’t assuaged at all, but Dennis brought himself back to the forefront of his attention.

"Is he alright?" the blond seethed. "He used his… ‘tricks,’ to frighten Mandie! He did it on purpose!"

Harry turned a questioning gaze to Tom, who just sneered at Dennis and his sister. "Their lot needs a lesson, from time to time," he said disdainfully.

"Riddle…!" Harry rebuked.

"Anyway," Riddle interrupted him. "I was just here to say that I’m ready." He sent a meaningful, almost challenging look to Harry. "Tonight is the night."

This brought both Harry and Dennis short. Dennis took a sharp breath, and Harry felt the ground slip under his feet. He had thought… he had thought they would agree on a date together, that he would have more time to…

"Are you… sure?" he asked, a little desperately. "You don’t look at your peak right now."

"Well, actually, I am," Riddle said, defiant. His gaze swept over all the children in the room, and then he was walking out. "See you here after curfew."

                  

֍֍֍

 

There had been a moment of shocked silence, abruptly interrupted by Miranda’s foster mother barging into the room and saying it was time to go home. Dennis had said goodbye to his sister as if in a daze, and then it was time to go find the rest of the gang.

They gathered Eric and Jack, and then shyly knocked on the door of Amy’s dorm. Hailey, a girl that had been glad to hang around Harry until his powers were outed, was the one to answer.

"Can we… talk to Amy in private?" Harry asked.

Hailey’s eyes widened, probably thinking they were here to discuss super-secret magic things.

Well, to be fair, they were here to discuss super-secret magic things.

Hailey and the two other girls in the dorm left without making a fuss, simply throwing them curious, wary glances above their shoulders.

When the door closed, Harry turned to Amy. The girl was seated in her bed under her covers, listlessly petting a white teddy bear.  

"I’m fine," she sighed. "Just tired, I swear."

"Amy, it’s not an intervention," Eric said. "Riddle’s gonna do it tonight."

Amy’s head whipped toward them, her mouth forming a perfect O. "It it?" she asked.

"It it," Dennis confirmed wryly.

She sat back against her headboard. "Wow." Then, a shy smile graced her pale face. "That’s… awesome! Dennis, that’s so great!"

Harry smiled wanly, trying to channel some of her excitement for himself. His friend was going to walk again tonight — it was great, wasn’t it?

"Yeah," Dennis said. "But I guess now it’s time to know what Riddle asked Harry in exchange."

He turned his wheelchair toward Harry, and soon the green-eyed boy was the target of five intense, expecting stares.

Shit, Harry thought. He had brought them here to have this conversation, but now he wasn’t ready. After a moment of withering under his friend's attention, though, he sighed and went to sit on Amy’s bed.

"Come here, guys," he said. "Sit down."

The children shared anxious looks but did as he said. Dennis rolled in front of Harry and the others sat on the floor on each side of him.

Harry kept his eyes locked on his lap for a long moment, throat dry and closed up. Then, without raising his head, he said, "I want you guys to know… When I got here, I had nothing and no one — not even memories. This place was scary and strange, but… it’s you that made it a home for me. I can’t even imagine how all those months would have been without you."

He finally lifted his gaze, looking at each of his friends’ faces. "I guess what I’m trying to say is… well, I love you all."

There was a moment of deep silence in the room.

Then…

"Fuck!" Eric cursed.

"Oh my god," Billy and Amy moaned.

"That bad, huh?" Dennis asked with a deep frown.

Even Jack seemed mildly concerned. "What is it, Harry?" the plump boy said. "Just say it."

Harry gulped and lowered his head into his hands. When he finally uttered the words, his heart broke.

"I can’t see you anymore."

Amy gasped, her hands flying to her mouth. Jack leaned forward worriedly. "What do you mean?" he asked. "Do you need glasses?"

Eric thumped him on the head. "Jesus, you’re thick !"

"What? I just—!"

"I can’t be your friend anymore," Harry cut to the chase, lifting a weary gaze from his hands. "That’s his condition."

The uproar that ensued was so epic that in any other place, it would probably have drawn concerned adults. But luckily, screams and curses were very common in Wool’s.

"The motherfucker!" Eric roared after the deafening shouts of everyone.

"He has no right!" Amy exclaimed, face twisted in anger. "It’s his fault Dennis needs this in the first place, he shouldn’t even have conditions!"

"No, I’m sure it’s a misunderstanding," Jack was muttering to himself as he paced around the room. "He will change his mind, I’m sure…"

Billy, for his part, was just crying.

Harry, tears rising to his eyes, shared a look with Dennis. His blond friend was the only calm one, if you could call that his strange, impenetrable face.

"It’s okay," Harry said to him. "I got you into that mess, I will get you out of it."

Numerous voices rose up saying it was not his fault, but the only one that mattered stayed silent. Dennis only kept looking at him, and in that moment, Harry knew that the boy hadn’t really forgiven him yet for bringing him back. Knew that he would give up anything, including his family, to make it up to him.

My family, Harry thought, surprising himself. He had never thought about having a family before, just lamenting the one he had presumably lost. Had Original-Harry (Harry still didn’t like calling him that) planted a seed with their talk earlier? Whatever it was, as Harry looked upon the righteous faces of his friends now, he realised it was true. In the absence of anything else, they had become his family.

"He will never change his mind," said Harry, his firm voice cutting everyone off. "It is the only way for Dennis to get his legs back. So I’ll do it, and none of you can dissuade me."

Shouts and pleas followed his statement, but Harry was adamant. After a while, the anger deflated, overcome by a sad kind of surrender. It didn’t take much for Harry and his friends to fall into the arms of each other in the end, forming a messy, crying group hug.

"Th-thank you for my mother," Amy said between hiccups, her face shoved against Harry’s neck. "I didn’t tell you earlier, but… thank you."

"Mate, we’ll never forget you," Eric said, voice thick. " Never , you hear that?"

"You’re the most awesome person I know, Harry," Billy said, almost asphyxiating him by the strength of his arms. "And that’s not because of magic."

"Alright," Harry finally said, gently dislodging himself from his friends and wiping his eyes. "Stop being so sappy, everyone. Eric, I expected better of you."

Some wet laughs sounded. Eric punched Harry in the arm, though it was notably softer than usual and further mellowed by the boy’s shiny eyes.

"We still have a full evening together," Harry said. "So let’s spend it happily, okay? From now on, I only want to hear jokes and happy stories. Come on, let’s go down to dinner."

His friends slowly trickled out of the room, adjusting their clothes and wiping their eyes. Harry was about to follow them when a hand grabbed him by the sleeve.

It was Dennis. The boy hadn’t participated in the group hug, staying awkwardly on the sidelines, but now he was looking up at Harry with some undefinable emotion shining in his eyes.

"I won’t waste this, Harry," he said in a quiet, fervent voice. "I’m sure now. I will live."

                    

֍֍֍

 

When Gellert had Apparated Tom back to Wool’s, he had stopped the boy before he could go in by the service back door.

"I’ll be in contact soon," he said. "In the meantime, try not to put yourself in any more mortal danger."

Tom snorted and nodded curtly. He reached for the door, eager to get inside. God, but he was tired.

A hand caught his shoulder. "And, Tom?" Gellert said.

Tom turned, a little annoyed, and was surprised to see the blond wizard look at him with slight hesitation.

"The boy you saw in the dreamscape," the man said, immediately making Tom tense. "The one waiting for you at the top of the tower. He’s the one you were talking about with Mrs Dhrish, isn’t he? The one you said you now have ‘exclusivity rights’ to."

Had Gellert heard more of his conversation with Abhika than he had thought? Tom kept his face blank, trying vainly not to panic. The man couldn’t get interested in Harry. "What of it?" Tom asked, somewhat belligerent.

Gellert sighed, his hand on Tom's shoulder turning softer. "Believe the advice of a man who lived through the same thing, Tom. You can never force someone to be with you."

Hours later, the words resonated in Tom’s head as he watched Harry sneak into Bishop’s room in the middle of the night, followed by his soon-to-not-be friends. What a load of garbage, he thought in gleeful anticipation. Of course you can, and that’s what I’m doing now.

As expected, the Muggles were wearing their best glares for the occasion. Harry must have finally told them. Tom had wondered how late he would push it.

Tom cast a privacy charm on the door so the sounds of the room would be somewhat muffled, and then turned toward the others. "Alright," he said. "If you all insist on staying—"

"Of course we do," Whalley said venomously.

Tom rolled his eyes and continued. "…then keep away from the bed. Don’t move, don’t talk, and don’t distract me."

Harry approached him as the Muggles settled all around. "You’re sure you’re up for it?" he whispered to Tom.

Tom threw him an annoyed look. What had Harry so worried, today? Tom was fine.

Still a little shaky, yes, and tired by the events of the day. He also had to take care not to think back about the trials… But other than that, fine.

Never better, actually. No matter how horrifying the whole experience had been, Tom was now well set to accomplish his grand Destiny. Right?

"Tonight or never, Harry," he taunted. "If you want to back out, just say it."

Harry set his jaw, glowering. With a brief shake of his head, he went to sit on the chair beside Bishop’s bed. Tom had explicitly told everyone to get away from it, but… whatever. Harry didn’t really bother him.

Tom stepped closer, stopping on the other side of Bishop’s bed. The Muggle was lying down with a calm face, slightly belied by how fast his chest went up and down.

"You don’t have any tools?" Bishop asked dubiously.

Riddle swivelled his wand between his fingers, smirking disdainfully. "No need." Then, he focused on the boy and cast the diagnostic charm on him. The boy startled when the blue light hit his chest.

"What was that?!"

He got his answer immediately in the form of his body’s translucent replica appearing above the bed, showing bones, muscles, veins and ligaments. Several gasps sounded around the room, and Riddle’s smirk widened. They didn’t need to know that this spell was actually pretty easy.

The difficult part was reading what it showed you. It was the whole reason Tom had to study for months, and he now put it to use by peering at the replica.

Yes… just as he had thought, the neck had been damaged, as well as several vertebrae and the pelvic bone. The boy’s legs showed obvious signs of having fractured, but seemed to have healed semi-appropriately. Tom wouldn’t need to tend to them, which was a relief, as what he had just spotted elsewhere was a little puzzling…

There seemed to be foreign objects covering the faulty vertebrae and hip. Tom cast a more focused diagnostic charm, and cursed.

"What?" Harry asked with alarm.

Tom turned to Bishop. "They screwed metal plates to you?" he asked, incredulous. How barbaric could the Muggles be, exactly?

He heard some mutterings among the Muggles, but didn’t pay attention to it. Bishop, for some reason, was glaring at Tom. "It was the only way I wouldn’t become fully paralyzed later on."

"Is it a problem?" Harry asked.

Tom let out an aggravated sigh. "It means I’ll have to remove them, which I hadn’t planned on. Lucky I studied how to vanish bone parts just in case."

"Vanish bones?" Bishop asked anxiously.  

"Sometimes it’s easier to just grow them back," Tom answered distractedly as he studied the body replica.

A tense silence filled the room as Tom made note of everything and formulated a step by step plan in his head. Depending on how well the body took to the healing, they could be in for an hour or for a long night.

"Here goes nothing," he muttered to himself, rolling up his sleeves. Then he cast another charm, this one orange-brown, right at Bishop’s face.

After a gasp, the boy sagged, his head rolling to the side with his eyes closed.

"What did you do?!" Whalley roared, shooting to his feet. Harry made to stop him, but Tom just rolled his eyes.

"It’s an anesthetic, you dumb fool," he said. "Or do you want him to be writhing in pain all along? I was trying to be nice here." And to make his own work easier, admittedly. He needed the boy still, and not panicking at the slightest things like the momentary loss of his sight or the wetting of his bed.

Whalley deflated, though reluctantly. Tom pierced him with a stern look. "If you can’t be quiet, just walk out now. Otherwise I’ll just stupefy you. I can’t afford to be distracted here."

"He’ll stay quiet," Harry assured, throwing a significant look at Whalley. The brawny boy sat back, frowning deeply.

And thus, Tom started to work. The vanishing of the metal plates went without a hitch, and then it was time to mould the vertebrae back into their correct shape. It was a tricky bit of work, delicate and time-consuming. It also demanded a lot of power, and Tom was soon helping to steady his spell with a bit of wandless magic. Harry unilaterally prefered his wand, but Tom had trained so long to function without it that working with a bit of both often gave him the best results.

It went on in deafening silence. Tom vanished a bit of vertebra that was too damaged to be worth mending, spelled the bone to regrow its missing part, slowly rerouted it to its correct shape. Wash, rinse, repeat.

It took him some time to acknowledge that something was wrong.

It was too… slow. The books had given very detailed descriptions of this procedure, and it wasn’t supposed to take nearly as long.

At first he wondered if it was because he had missed something, but the spells were working. Though reluctantly. It was almost like… the body was fighting him. Fighting to stay the same.

What the hell, right?

Was it because Bishop was a Muggle? Maybe an innate spark of magic was necessary to speed things along… though Tom was supposed to have this part covered already. He had wondered early in his studies if he would need to do things differently for a Muggle, but it had turned out that wizards and Muggles bodies weren’t that different. Weren’t… actually different at all. The magical core wasn’t a physical organ in the body, more something that existed on another level.

Ergo, this spell should have worked the same for a wizard or a Muggle. But it didn’t now.

Tom wasn’t yet getting tired, but he had had a long day, and he knew himself enough to know that it wouldn’t be long now. So he veered off the beaten path, using tendrils of wandless magic to dive into the body before him and instinctively search for any deficiency. Any strangeness.

He found one surprisingly quickly.

What—? he thought, flabbergasted as he felt a pulse of magic respond to him from inside. Magic was flowing inside the boy, from his brain to the top of his toes, almost like blood.

For a wild second, he had the nightmarish thought that Bishop was actually a wizard. That he would go with them at Hogwarts and be a nuisance forever…

But then he recognized the flavour of this magic, and he understood.

Icy cold and yet warm. Dark like the deepest night, and yet filled with specks of bright, golden light. Entrancing. Powerful. Unique.

Harry’s magic.

Tom’s head spinned when faced with this discovery. Bishop’s body wasn’t responding well to the healing because it wasn’t his body that was animating the boy. It was Harry’s magic.

Bishop was well and truly supposed to be dead. Tom suspected that, should the magic leave him suddenly, his heart would stop and he would just drop to the ground.

It was both fascinating and disturbing.

But the magic clearly wasn’t sufficient to make the boy’s legs work without the proper… infrastructure inside, so to say. Tom would need to brute-force the body to heal itself.

And that’s what he applied to do next, continuing the healing process as before, but now pushing his own magic at it to boost it forward. It was like walking through waist-deep snow or trying to pull a truck alone –  i.e., exhausting and slow. But finally, it was working.

Too bad Tom wouldn’t get to the end.

His body had started to get tremors by the end of the second vertebra. In the middle of the third one, sweat was obscuring his eyes and his hold on his magic kept slipping. He was feeling the power inside him flicker alarmingly, in a way that had never happened before.

He was at the end of his rope. I shouldn’t have cast that spell on Abhika before, he thought despairingly. Or I should have waited another day for this. Because not only was he just at the midway mark, but he had already removed the metal plates. Which meant that either Bishop would need to remain unconscious until Tom had rested, or he would wake up in unimaginable pain. And that wasn’t all Tom had to do: the process had always included taking care of people’s reaction to Bishop’s sudden recovery by casting a mild, localised form of the Notice-Me-Not charm. That way people would marvel at the way he could work overnight, but wouldn’t wonder overmuch how . It would seem surprising, but still in the limits of what was possible.

Except Tom didn’t have the strength to cast it anymore — he wasn’t sure if he would be able to cast even a lumos a minute from now.

He was raking his brain furiously, reviewing which spells would Harry be able to use to take attention away from Dennis for at least a full day. Tom would need to teach him in a hurry, spells he wasn’t sure even he knew well enough. This was bound to fail…

He startled when a foreign feeling suddenly wrapped all around him. Or rather, around his magic. It was so overwhelming and powerful that Tom took a moment to recognize it.

He gasped. It was Harry’s magic again! Except this time it was alive, reacting to his own. It was being pushed against him, supporting like a friend holding up another upright.

He looked up sharply, coming back to the room just enough to meet Harry’s eyes. The boy was still seated on the other side of the bed, looking right at Tom. He seemed mildly worried, but the most notable thing was the fire of determination burning in his gaze. As soon as their eyes met, the push of magic against Tom’s was even stronger.

"You…" Tom croaked.

"Take it," Harry urged him. "Come on."

How the hell was he doing that? Tom had never heard of anything of the sort. Still, he didn’t hesitate and reached out, filling himself with Harry’s magic as if it was oxygen. He felt his strength return, his focus sharpen. Even the light in the room suddenly seemed brighter.

This magic… It was so different. So powerful. Tom had thought he was a powerful wizard — more powerful than Harry — and yet, now he doubted himself. There was an underlying sense of the infinite in this magic, like it was an unending well, like Harry was giving him a glass of water when he still had the ocean behind. Tom could see himself getting addicted to that feeling very fast.

Harry wasn’t mastering his magic very well yet, perhaps that was true.

But God, when he would, he would be at the top of the world.

Perhaps even higher than Tom.

A flicker of insecurity passed through him at the idea. But he forced himself to focus, to think back on it later. Right now, he had a job to do.

The rest of the healing went so fast it was almost perfunctory. With Tom’s control and Harry’s power combined, even Bishop’s rebellious body came to heel. The modified Notice-Me-Not was cast just after, and soon, Tom was standing before his healed patient, fighting his own wonder.

He had been proud of his magical accomplishments before, but that… That was true, awe-inducing magic. The kind that truly changed the world and the people in it. And he had mastered it at not even ten years old.

He turned an exhilarated gaze to Harry. "It’s done."

The open delight, the admiration in Harry’s face as he looked back at him, was even more addictive than the boy’s magic.

The other Muggles had got up with all sorts of enthusiastic sounds, and were now crowding around the bed. Tom cancelled the anesthetic charm and they all waited with bated breath as Bishop’s eyelids fluttered. Even Tom felt himself swept up in the excitement of the room.

Bishop blinked slowly, confused at the myriad of questions that his friends were firing at him. Then, he looked at Tom and after that at his feet.

His left toe twitched. Then, his whole legs.

It was a good thing that Tom had thought to muffle the sounds of the room before starting, because the explosion of joy that ensued would have woken up the whole building. Tom didn’t jump up and down like Harry and the others as they urged Dennis to sit up and try to walk, but he could feel the elation thrum in his veins. This feeling of self-accomplishment was delectable, better than almost anything.

Because not only had he achieved such a great feat of magic, but he had also gotten everything he wanted in one fell swoop.

As he met Harry’s eyes over the shoulder of Bishop, he couldn’t help but grin wider. 

Finally, he thought with relish, you’re all mine.




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! 😀