Actions

Work Header

Chapter 7: V (31)

Notes:

I'm sorry for the hurt last chapter. This chapter is where we get fed up with Tom being himself! And Dumbledore pulls a "Heartbreaking: The worst person you know just made a great point."

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Over the years, Tom had become a master at compartmentalisation.

He’d had to. Between his time in muggle London during the war, his consuming rage at his treatment in the magical world, and his yearning for Harry, he would’ve long gone off the deep end if he couldn’t break his thoughts down into manageable little boxes, to be taken out and dealt with when most opportune.

Letting Harry go had been like lopping off a limb. He’d spent the night and day following the selkie’s departure curled up on the bed in his tiny flat, holding one of Harry’s shirts as tightly as he wished he could hold the boy.

The next morning, he’d woken up, lovingly packed all of his care and longing for Harry into a mental box, and tucked it into a dark, secret part of his mind. And then he’d moved on with his life.

His plans wouldn’t make themselves happen, after all.

He worked at Borgin and Burkes until he was able to acquire Slytherin’s locket. He rallied his supporters and started to place his pieces to fit with his long-term strategy. He travelled around the world to learn and experience magic in all its forms. And then he returned home, ready to make Magical Britain his.

Every so often, he’d pulled his memories of Harry out to bask in the feeling of warm contentment they held. And for a day or two after each of these visits, he would long to have Harry with him in the flesh. But he always refocused on what needed to be done.

Perhaps it was better to leave things as they were. He missed Harry dearly, but only when he thought of him. While his time with the selkie would be limited, he wouldn’t have to worry about sharing him with anyone else, or justifying his methods and plans to someone whose opinion might actually matter to him.

And was there a safer place for a part of his soul than with a possibly immortal magical creature that lived in the ocean?

So, when Tom spotted Harry at the Ministry of Magic’s yule celebration, it understandably took him aback. Two distinct parts of his life were suddenly overlapping, and he’d had no hand in it.

He politely but unilaterally disengaged himself from his conversation with a Greengrass to go to his selkie.

Only to be waylaid.

“Ah, Tom, so good to see you,” Albus Dumbledore said, eyes twinkling obnoxiously, as he stepped into Tom’s path to Harry.

This represented a second deviation from the norm: Dumbledore never came to Ministry ‘dos if he could help it. The wizard avoided being forced to socialise at political events with the same stubbornness he applied to offering lemon drops. And since he’d defeated Grindelwald, there wasn’t really anyone who told Dumbledore what to do if Dumbledore didn’t want to do it.

Ergo, it stood to reason the two discrepancies were related.

“Albus. It’s rare to see you away from Hogwarts,” Tom replied. “Has a certain green-eyed monster drawn you out?”

Dumbledore chortled. “You could indeed say that.”

(“Though it’s rich for you to call anyone a monster,” went unsaid but not unheard.)

“It’s been many years since I last saw Mr. Potter,” the older wizard added. “I couldn’t miss the opportunity when it presented itself.”

“Well, if you'll excuse me. I’ll have to delay your reunion in favour of my own,” Tom said, preparing to continue towards the selkie.

“You misunderstand – Harry came to me,” Dumbledore corrected. 

Tom stopped short. That did make more sense. Security at the Ministry was terrible, but even Tom doubted it was so lax as to let an unaccompanied teenager with no wand and no identification in.

“Did he.” Tom felt confusion, hurt, and rage bubble up inside him. Harry was his; why would he go to Dumbledore? Why was he on land, in human-form, at all?

“He’s looking for a way to become human and thought I might be able to help him,” Dumbledore said smugly.

(“Since you obviously couldn’t,” he didn’t-say.)

“How unexpected (considering what he thinks of you). He must have been desperate,” Tom sneered.

“Yes, I do believe he was,” Dumbledore replied, gazing over his spectacles at Tom in disappointment. “From what he’s said, the person to whom he initially entrusted the task wasn’t up to the challenge–”

Tom’s wand was in his head, vein jumping at his pulse point, blood-boiling curse on his tongue. Distantly, he noticed Dumbledore had also readied his wand.

“Oi, knock it off, you two!” Harry appeared in time to grab them both by the neck of their robes before they could start firing off hexes or anything more serious than veiled barbs.

“Albus, I came to you because I thought ye could be an adult about this, not so ye could be a petty arse–”

“–I beg your pardon–”

“–and Tom, ye’ve no leg to stand on, I waited thirteen years for you to come back,” Harry finally looked at Tom, hurt darkening his eyes. “Were you ever planning on coming back to me?”

“I…” Tom was caught speechless for the first time in many years.

Which seemed to be the fuel Harry’s indignant fire needed, as he then proceeded to tear them both a new one from behind a hastily erected silencing charm.

And so it was that the assembled crowd saw two of the most powerful wizards in the world scolded like naughty children by a teenager.

Notes:

The resolution?