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darkobsidianquill · 5 years ago

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Harry Potter and the descent into Darkness.

Chapter Eighteen.

Getting away from Ron was easy. Harry simply timed the use of the time-turner really well. As far as Ron could tell, Harry simply slipped away to use the loo, and came back a few minutes later.

In reality, he had gone to the manor and spent two and a half hours reading while Voldemort meditated on the floor. The magic had done that peaking thing again about two hours in, and Harry had found himself sitting with the open book on his lap, discarded, with his eyes closed and head leaning back against Voldemort's chair. He let his mind get lost in the delicious lull of Voldemort's magic and literally lost track of time. It wasn't until the peak in the magics decreased suddenly, that Harry was jerked out of his stupor.

The book he brought was in pretty bad condition, but it didn't seem like it would be a devastating loss if he somehow botched the spell up, so he wasn't terribly worried when the two of them finally got down to actually practicing the spell.

The first few times he tried it, the restoration seemed to be exceedingly slow. Voldemort seemed to instantly understand what Harry was doing wrong and explained it in such a way that just made it all make perfect sense.

"You would have been a brilliant teacher," Harry mused as he cast the spell on the book and it began to mend and restore itself to order.

Voldemort actually snorted. "Yes, well, tell that to the old man," he drawled.

Harry looked up at him with his brow furrowed in confusion. "Dumbledore? What do you mean?"

Voldemort paused and gave Harry a long look as if he were contemplating something.

"I applied to work as a professor at Hogwarts... many years ago. Actually, I applied twice."

Harry gaped at him, stunned by this revelation. Voldemort – the Voldemort – had applied to teach at Hogwarts?

"When?" Harry asked, incredulously.

"The first time was the year after I graduated. Professor Dippet was still the Headmaster at the time, and the old Defense teacher, Professor Merrythought was retiring that year. She had thought I would be a shoe-in for the position and even personally recommended me to replace her. However Professor Dippet thought I was too young and told me to come back in a few years after having had more life experience," Voldemort finished with a sarcastic sneer.

"And the second time?" Harry asked eagerly. With every word Voldemort spoke, Harry felt like some ravenous monster had reared up inside him, and the monster was starving for information. These little tidbits of information about the Dark Lord's past was like gold to him, and he couldn't even rationally say why.

"The second time was about ten years later. Dumbledore had gotten the Headmaster's job by then. The man never liked me. He was the only teacher I had at Hogwarts who mistrusted me. I knew there was next to no chance he would award me the position, but it had become available again and I had to try."

Harry blinked in confusion for a minute before he finally voiced the one word that just kept repeating in his mind.

"Why?"

Voldemort was quiet for some time, and Harry wondered if he would actually get an answer.

"It was the only other thing I ever wanted to do... I suppose... I suppose there was some tiny part of me that considered it as my one and only out." He paused in thought for a moment before smirking widely. "Ah, if only the old fool had any idea what he missed out on. He was truly convinced that the only reason I would apply for the job was as part of some larger, evil scheme. I had already begun to form the Death Eaters, you see. He was convinced I was up to something. That there was no way that I could possibly ever want to teach." He scoffed humorously.

"You would have given it all up, to be a teacher?" Harry asked in a stunned whisper.

Again, it took an extremely long time for the man to reply, and when he did his voice was very quiet, and yet still rather sure. "I do believe I would have... just maybe." He chuckled. "But I am also a very bitter man, so of course, once he denied me the job, I cursed it."

Voldemort said this in a very flippant way and it took Harry a moment to register what had been said.

"Wait... you mean that your the reason that we've never had a defense teacher last more than a year?" Harry guffawed.

Voldemort looked down at Harry with his nose turned up again, and a sly grin on his face.

"Maybe," he drawled.

Harry laughed and shook his head. "Do you have any idea how much that has sucked? I mean, aside from the dark arts, defense is my favorite subject, but aside from bloody Barty, all my teachers have been rubbish. Well, Lupin was good, but he really only taught us about defending ourselves from dark creatures, not really anything about the nature of dark magic.

"Ah yes, Barty... I am going to have to figure out what to do about that situation..."

"What do you mean?"

"If he sticks around long enough to return to teach a second year, Dumbledore will get exceedingly suspicious. After all, only someone of whom I approved, could make it past my little curse. Dumbledore will be expecting something to go wrong with 'Moody', or at the very least, for the ex-auror to refuse to come back a second year. I doubt that we can maintain Barty's cover for much longer than the school year anyway. Obviously we cannot risk the real Moody getting away either."

"So he is still alive? I've seen his name on the map, but he's always inside Barty's office. I've been in there had haven't seen anyone."

"I believe Barty is keeping him locked up inside a trunk. One with a very large space expansion charm on it."

Harry blinked. "The real Moody is locked up in a trunk? And he's been there the whole year?"

Voldemort chuckled darkly. "Yes, marvelous isn't it."

"Why not just shave his head and off him? Seems like keeping him alive just for Polyjuice ingredients is a bit risky."

"Yes, but there have been a few incidents where he was necessary for Barty to bring him out, under the Imperius curse, to take care of a few tasks.

"Oh..." Harry said before shrugging and moving on. "So Barty won't be coming back to teach next year?"

"It would look too suspicious," Voldemort said, waving his hand dismissively.

Harry sighed and his lip stuck out a bit in a pout. Voldemort gave him a strange look that made Harry quickly stop and clear his throat; suddenly feeling awkward.

"I wonder what idiot we're going to end up with instead," Harry mused. "I just hope that, whoever it is, isn't as big an idiot as Lockhart was..." Harry paused for a moment before he began to laugh. Voldemort gave him an odd look and waited for Harry's giggles to subside.

"Care to explain what was so funny?"

"I was just thinking about how hilarious it would be if you somehow managed to sneak in as the Defense professor for next year. I mean, you already suck in on the back of Quirrell's head one year, and you got one of your Death Eaters in this year... it would just really be a laugh if you could put one over on Dumbledore so much that you actually got the job for next year.

Voldemort chuckled and rolled his yes. "Yes, that would be humorous, but I'm afraid that I will be much, much too busy. No matter how badly I would enjoy making Dumbledore look the fool for it, teaching is no longer on my list of goals. I have commitments to address, and a war to renew."

Harry sobered up and nodded his head. "Yeah, you do."

"Although it certainly wouldn't hurt to try and engineer who takes up the post for next year," Voldemort mused.

"Well, I certainly wouldn't mind, as long as you find someone who actually knows what they're talking about. Barty's been brilliant, even if he is trying to act like an insane auror at the same time."

– –

Harry's class load was completely full on Fridays, so he had no real opportunity to slip away for another afternoon visit to Voldemort. He only had a few minutes between classes, and no decent opportunities during that time to give Ron and Hermione the slip, since he shared every class with both of them.

When Harry visited that evening, Voldemort was sitting at his desk, scratching away on some parchment. Harry slipped in, realizing suddenly that he didn't actually have any reason to come that night. He hadn't even been told to come to practice the affinitatem counter. He had just gotten into the habit of coming every day, that it felt like he just should go.

Just as this was going through his mind, and he was suddenly feeling nervous about even being there, now that he realized he had no valid excuse for it, Voldemort interrupted his musings and handed him a book. Harry blinked at it, and then grinned. Not because of the book or anything it contained, but at the fact that he had an excuse to stay.

He easily slid down onto the floor, sitting beside Voldemort's chair and relaxing against it. Being literally inches away from the man seemed to ease the tension that seemed ever present in his body whenever he was close to Voldemort, but not quite close enough.

He found himself feeling utterly relaxed and just happy to be there. The book was interesting too, but he often found his attention drifting off as he let the feel of the man's magic that always lingered in the air around him, as it lingered around Harry.

Voldemort heaved a small sigh and pulled out his wand. A simple flick in the air and a moment later a book sailed across the room and into his hands. Voldemort leaned back in his chair, crossed one leg casually over the other knee and let the book fall open in his lap. The two just sat there in the comfortable silence of the room, reading for at least another hour. Harry felt his eyelids growing heavy and caught his head lulling to the side several times before he would jerk himself back awake.

It was one such moment, when his head was falling just a bit towards the right, and his eyes were slowly closing when he felt Voldemort's left hand drape down over the arm rest behind his head, and the gentle, almost there, brush of fingers in his hair. In his half-dozed state, Harry almost convinced himself that he had imagined it until the fingers brushed through his hair again, but deeper. Three of the long slender fingers seemed to comb lazily through his black nest of hair again and again. They threaded deeper into his hair as more minutes passed, gently brushing his messy locks. Harry's book lay utterly forgotten in his lap as he leaned his head back against the chair and held his eyes closed against the utterly wonderful, foreign, and confusing experience. He could feel the most indescribable magical sensation, each time the man's fingertips brushed against his scalp. It was like some unnameable force had been calling to him. Pulling at him with great strength, and that pull had been calmed suddenly by the touch. Like this was what he was being pulled to, and now that he was here, everything was right.

A tiny irritating voice in the back of his head pointed out that he was currently sitting on the floor beside the Dark Lord's chair letting the man pet him, and that this should somehow be humiliating or something, but the rest of him squashed that voice with a violent force. He was enjoying the amazing, comforting touch too much to give a damn if he was being 'pet' or not. Besides it was the Dark Lord who was doing it. The Dark Lord could do whatever he damn well pleased to Harry and he would accept it openly... as long as it didn't mean dying. He still didn't want to die by the man's hands, but he readily acknowledged that, outside of death, he would probably do just about anything for the man. And what was happening at that moment was in no way a bad thing for Harry. In fact, Harry felt that the world was more right at that moment than he could ever clearly recall. Voldemort was touching him, and it felt intimate and caring, and simple, and right.

Harry never wanted it to end...

He had no idea how long he sat there with his eyes closed just reveling in the sensation, but at some point he must have actually dozed off. He came to with a start as the fingers left his hair and Voldemort shifted in his chair as he set the book aside.

"Come on, Harry. You should head back. You'll end up sore if you sleep against my chair like that," Voldemort said as he stood to his feet and offered his hand to help Harry stand up.

Harry blinked at the hand, still trying to clear his fuzzy head.

Did Voldemort just call him Harry? Had he ever done that before?

Harry shook his head, gave Voldemort a weak, sheepish grin, and took the offered hand. The touch was... indescribable. Harry's breath caught in his throat and he had to fight to keep his eyes open as a powerful energy curled up inside him and tingled through every limb. He almost thought he heard Voldemort's breath catch, but it was too quiet to be sure. Harry stood to his feet and reluctantly released the other man's hand.

"Thanks," he said, ducking his head a bit in embarrassment. "Sorry about passing out like that."

Voldemort seemed to be pointedly looking away before he seemed to recover from something and looked back at Harry. "It's fine. You should head back to the castle."

"Right..." Harry said, nodding his head and quickly gathering his bag up. Harry quickly made his way to the door and pulled it open to make his way out.

"Goodnight, Potter," called the soft, smooth voice of Voldemort.

Harry gave a bit of a start and looked back at the Dark Lord with a startled expression, but Voldemort had already turned his attention back to something on his desk and was no longer looking his way.

"Goodnight," Harry replied hesitantly. His dismissals had always been abrupt before. It was the first time that Voldemort had actually said goodnight to him. He wasn't even sure why, but this felt... important, somehow. But of course, the Dark Lord had slipped back into using his family name again. He wondered if the man even realized he'd called him Harry at all.

– –

Harry returned after lunch on both Saturday and Sunday. Just like the previous early afternoon sessions, he arrived to find Voldemort meditating on the floor. Voldemort had a book ready for him sitting on the desk and Harry had simply picked it up and taken his usual spot on the floor beside the chair.

Voldemort's parselmagic swirled and peaked and Harry sat there letting himself get lost in it. After an hour or two, Voldemort had stopped and migrated to his desk where he began to read, or began to scratch away at some parchment. Harry kept relaxing and reading. He finished the reading that Voldemort had left for him on Sunday, and switched over to his reading for Charms class instead. They didn't do any practical work either days. No practicing the affinitatum counter or repairing old books. They just read and sat enjoying the quiet company. Or at least, Harry sat there enjoying the company. He was still rather bewildered as to why Voldemort would want him there since there really seemed to be no reasonable explanation for it.

Sunday afternoon, after Harry had been reading in Voldemort's study for several hours, Voldemort spoke suddenly, startling Harry out of his relaxed stupor.

"Potter?"

Harry jumped slightly at the sudden break in the silence. "Yeah?"

"What is your class schedule like tomorrow?"

"Oh... well, Mondays are pretty full. First block is Herbology, second block is Care of Magical Creatures, then lunch, and then my last two blocks are Divination. I'm going to make another attempt at getting into Trelawney's head. I slipped in last Monday but couldn't find anything. Anyway, after Divination is dinner. Mondays and Fridays are the only days that I don't have any free blocks."

Voldemort nodded slowly and Harry was surprised to see a mild scowl flit across the man's face for a moment before it disappeared.

"As long as you use the time-turner, you can still come here after lunch and return without missing any classes. I would like you to try and come again tomorrow directly after lunch. Can you do that?"

Harry stared at the man with a rather bewildered expression, but quickly snapped his mouth shut and nodded. "Yes, sure. I'll be here." Harry hesitated at this point. He was absolutely dying to ask why. He really enjoyed the time he spent in the study, so he certainly didn't mind being asked to come every day after lunch, but he was still incredibly confused as to why Voldemort would actually want him there.

"Um... sir?" Harry began, hesitantly.

"What did I say about being awkward and stupid?" Voldemort said without looking up from his book.

Harry halted a bit, not having expected that. He quickly mustered up his courage and tried to press on. "I'd like to ask a question," Harry said with a bit more confidence than he actually felt.

"Ask away," Voldemort said, still not bothering to look up from what he was reading.

"Why do you want me here while you meditate?"

"Do you mind being here?"

"No! Not at all!" Harry replied, quickly. "I really like it, to be perfectly honest."

"Then, what does it matter?"

Harry went to open his mouth, but shut it again, rethinking what he wanted to ask next.

"I'd like to ask another question," Harry said after a brief pause.

"Proceed."

"What are you working on... with the meditation, I mean?"

"What do you think it is?" Voldemort said, closing the book and setting it down on the desk in front of him.

"I... well, I can tell it's some sort of parselmagic. The meditation that you're doing reminds me a bit of the work I did when I was learning to transform into the sea snake while preparing for the second task, but it's not quite the same as that..."

"Hm," Voldemort made a small, amused-sounding noise. "You're actually quite close. Tell me something, Potter – are you at all familiar with what I looked like, during the last war? The face that people associated with the name Lord Voldemort?"

Harry sat forward a bit and turned his head so he could look up at the Dark Lord who was still sitting in his chair and now looking down at Harry. The man he saw there was attractive. Healthy skin tone, although perhaps a tad on the pale side. Shiny, slightly wavy black hair, slicked back, straight, defined nose, and a sharp, angular jaw. He was really a very attractive man, and Harry was not ashamed at all to admit that thought in his mind. Tom Riddle had been a very striking teenager, and he had only grown into an exceedingly fine looking man. It was obvious to Harry that this man was the adult version of the boy he had seen in the diary in his second year, so the question left him rather confused. Was he suggesting that he didn't look like this when his last body was destroyed?

"I guess I don't know, actually," Harry said, looking up at the man with a blank expression.

"I did not look like this. Not exactly. There is another transformation that we, as wielders of parselmagic, are able to learn. The transformation allows us to take on certain serpentine qualities while maintaining a humanoid body. I mastered this transformation, and always used that form while dealing with my Death Eaters. I am simply going through the motions of teaching my new body to perform it as well."

Harry puzzled over this information for a moment before he felt like he knew what he wanted to ask next. "Does the transformation give you advanced skills and abilities?"

"There are some mild enhancements, but they are not the real reason that I did it."

"What is the real reason?" Harry asked easily.

"Fear and control. The simple fact of the matter is that many of my followers are far too proud to ever be subservient to a 'mere man'. In order to obtain and secure their loyalties, they had to see me as something more than that. More than just a powerful wizard."

"But you are more. You're the Dark Lord!" Harry insisted as if it were the most obvious thing.

Voldemort looked down at Harry with a curious expression for a moment before smirking slightly.

"Yes, but most wizards alive today are unaware of what that really means. Most assume it is merely a title I have appointed myself out of arrogance. In order to easily secure the belief of my lesser followers that I am far more than just a man, I performed the transformation."

"I assume you must look pretty damned intimidating in it then?" Harry said with a grin.

Voldemort raised his chin a big and returned a sly smirk. "Quite."

Harry chuckled.

Voldemort seemed to ponder something for a moment after that, and Harry began to think that the discussion on it was over unless he came up with another question.

"My original plan, for restoring my body would have returned me directly to that form," Voldemort said suddenly, catching Harry by surprise.

"It would have? Then why didn't you do it?"

"Because I would have been trapped in that form. With the original resurrection ritual that I had planned, my body would not have been capable of performing the serpentine transformations. I had to chose between returning to my true body," a this, he waved his hand, indicating himself, "or returning in the body in the already transformed state. I was not fond of this restriction, but at the time it seemed I had little other choice and had been willing to sacrifice my true form in order to maintain control over my followers."

Voldemort paused again, and Harry used that moment to truly process what had just been said.

"When you agreed to participate voluntarily, you provided me with the ability to restore my true body, and the ability to perform the transformation. I still have to retrain myself, but it is proceeding faster than I had anticipated it would. Once I have successfully trained my body to do the transformation again, I will be calling the Death Eaters to me again."

"That's why you haven't called any of them back to you yet," Harry said, suddenly understanding it. "Even though you're powerful enough that they don't pose a threat to you now, you're waiting until you can look like the 'old you'. Right?"

"Correct. With several of the more prominent wizards who were my followers, if they were to see me like this," again, he waved his hand, indicating his current body, "they would think me nothing more than a weak, mortal, wizard. Defeated by an infant, and left weakened over a decade of years. They could easily refuse to follow me, or even be idiotic enough to challenge my claim as their Lord. I am unwilling to risk showing any sign of weakness."

Harry nodded his head as he finally felt like he understood why the others hadn't been called back yet.

"So how goes the progress on the transformation, then?" Harry asked, suddenly feeling rather eager.

"Surprisingly well," Voldemort mused with a strange grin on his face.

"Does my being here help, somehow?" Harry asked suddenly.

Voldemort looked down at him, with a mildly surprised expression for a moment before he sighed. "As a matter of fact, it does."

"That's why you keep asking me to be here while you meditate?" Harry asked, rhetorically.

"Correct, Potter."

"I wonder why my being here helps..." Harry mused quietly as he looked out across the room, unseeingly.

Voldemort didn't reply right away, and the room lulled back into silence.

"Why, indeed," Voldemort said in a quiet whisper some long minutes later. Harry didn't know what to make of it, and remained silent.

Voldemort didn't speak on the subject again that visit.

– –

Voldemort sat in his office chair, late that night, looking over map of the Riddle Manor estate and his plans for the next layer of wards. He had already laid out the first two layers, but they required some time to settle before applying the next, or else the two would unstable.

Potter had left an hour earlier and he was finding it difficult to concentrate clearly, now that he was sitting in the room alone. It was an entirely irrational and idiotic fact. But fact it remained.

Harry Potter's presence made him feel... better. Or something. More calm? Content? He rarely felt calm or content. They were not natural states for him. They never had been. Well, certainly not content. He could do calm, when needed.

Whenever Potter entered the manor he could instantly feel the boy's presence. He always knew the moment Potter had portkeyed in, even without the wards notifying him. Potter's magic was wild and utterly untamed. It was like a constantly blazing fire that roared and crackled around him. He really needed to teach the boy to harness and control his magic better. It was no wonder he was effected so strongly by using his magic. So much of the boy's magic had been set aside and reserved to the task of fighting against Voldemort's horcrux that Potter had never become accustomed to controlling and managing his enormous stores of magic. Having it all suddenly available to him, all at once, had probably left him overwhelmed by it.

That much magic, without the gradual build-up that would have normally come with growth and aging, suddenly thrust upon a person, would be intense. He needed to train Potter to control his magic, or else it would simply control him instead.

Voldemort also acknowledged that some part in the back of his mind liked this idea even more because it gave him another excuse to keep the boy coming back regularly, and Voldemort scolded himself for the fact. He was being utterly absurd.

But there was undeniably something more to what he was experiencing that he could quite put his finger on. Best he could figure was that it was related to the boy being a horcrux. He felt the most inexplicable draw to Potter. He was drawn to the boy's magic, but also to his presence. As soon as he could feel the boy within the manor, it was as if his very body yearned for Potter to be closer, and when Potter was gone, he missed having his company around. Voldemort had never desired company. It just wasn't how he operated. He liked being alone! But during the ritual that stripped away the Ministry's magical trace, it had been literally physically uncomfortable to stay so far away from Potter, while he was so close by.

It was utterly ridiculous, and he was practically furious with himself for feeling such irrational things so strongly. It wasn't like him at all.

He had felt it, mildly, before the resurrection ritual, but it had become even stronger after. He wasn't sure if this was because he was now in a fully functional human body and was better in sync with his magic now, or if it was because they now shared a blood bond and it had managed to magnify whatever connection they had had before the ritual.

There was no question that the two of them were strongly tied together. Voldemort possessed Potter's blood, while Potter possessed a piece of Voldemort's soul. They were, quite literally, bound together. It was because of this fact alone that Voldemort had allowed himself to keep exploring this strange magnetic pull he felt towards Harry Potter.

He had been pointedly ignoring it until Potter had gone and shown up early that one day while he was performing his transformation meditations.

He had felt Potter enter the manor, as he always did. Had it been anyone else who had come and knocked on his study door while he performed the meditation, he would have ignored them, or sent them away instantly. He never would have allowed them to enter the room. To interrupt his work. To distract him. And he absolutely never would have allowed anyone else to stay in the room while he sat there on the floor, so utterly vulnerable.

And yet the moment Potter had knocked on the door, Voldemort hadn't even hesitated to call him into the room.

In his meditated state of mind, his more baser instincts took control and he could already sense how much calmer he felt as the boy drew closer, and how much easier he was finding it to slip to his center and call forth the needed type of parselmagic.

He had expected as many as two months of daily meditation before he would achieve the full transformation, but with Potter's company, he was progressing much faster. He suspected he would have it completed in another two weeks at most, at the rate he was going.

This was another reason he had allowed himself to continue pursuing and investigating the strange magic that existed between he and the boy. But he knew it was just an excuse. Teaching him. Talking with him, casually. Sitting in the study and reading... There was no value in the two of them sitting there reading. But he was... what? Enjoying the company? How ludicrous. Part of him knew that as soon as he was done with his meditation exercises that he should have just kicked the boy out and be done with it. And yet he didn't want to.

Potter himself was a bit of an enigma. There were times when he had the most surprising confidence about him when in Voldemort's presence. Like he felt safe and comfortable enough to play at being cocky. Even the proudest members of his Death Eaters had still always remained cowed in his presence. Of course, he never allowed them so much leeway, or to see him in his true human form like he was with the boy. Perhaps Potter just wasn't properly intimidated?

But no... that couldn't be it, because Potter had come to him with that cocky attitude. With that irrational confident air about him. While Voldemort was still in his homunculus. Admittedly, not the most intimidating form he had ever assumed, but still not one to instill a sense of calm, either.

Despite Potter's occasional displays of confidence, Voldemort could tell it was somewhat put on. Potter was still hesitant and unsure of himself much of the time. Stupid awkward teenagers. But he was allowing Voldemort to act as a guiding figure, and he was soaking up every bit of information the Dark Lord offered him. Despite his guises, the boy was an open book, and it was blatantly clear to Voldemort that Potter was enjoying their time spent together in an equally bewildering way.

Did Potter have any idea why they were getting pulled together? He highly doubted it. Potter seemed to just roll with whatever life threw at him, and he did it quite smoothly. Very adaptable, that one... But he supposed that given the life the boy had been forced to live, it was understandable.

However awkward, or cocky, or like a teenager, the boy acted at times, Voldemort couldn't find it in himself to dislike Harry Potter. He was respectful enough, he was extremely eager to learn, had so far proven himself to be very useful, and...

Voldemort sighed... he was spending too much time thinking about bloody Harry Potter, lately. But he was still in a holding pattern until he had his transformation complete.

The most disturbing thing, he had to admit, related back to Potter being present during his meditations, was that while It was true that the boy's presence was speeding up his progress, and this was almost valuable enough to nullify any risk in allowing him to remain in the room while Voldemort sat there in such an utterly vulnerable state. But what was truly odd was that Voldemort didn't feel at all vulnerable during those times. He didn't feel like there was any risk. There was no fear or paranoia that Harry Potter would take advantage of his weaker state, or lowered guard. He trusted the boy to behave.

He never trusted anyone. He never had.

Never.

The only thing he had ever trusted at all, was probably Nagini. And he trusted her because he knew she couldn't betray him. She was literally incapable of it. She was only a snake, after all. She was a lesser creature, and she would never have any hope of fighting against the much stronger and far more powerful will of his horcrux within her. She could never go against his will. It simply wasn't possible. And so she was utterly loyal to him, and always would be.

But the same couldn't be true for Potter, could it?

He knew it wasn't the same. Potter was a wizard. And not just some common weakling either. He was a powerful, intelligent, and cunning wizard. Barty had told him about the incident at the start of the year where Potter had thrown off the Imperius curse, and that had been before the boy had stopped wasting all of his magic, fighting against Voldemort's horcrux.

So no... the probability was that if Potter wanted to, Voldemort had no doubt that the boy could go against him. He was not so deeply under Voldemort's control that he would be unable to betray him.

So why did he feel as if he could trust the boy?

It was dangerous. Trust was probably the most dangerous mistake he could ever make. He knew that. He had always known that. Never fully trust anyone. Always keep your eyes open, and your back guarded.

And yet he had so easily let his guard down around the boy, again and again. What the hell was wrong with him? He had to be out of his mind to be allowing himself to slip so badly. To so easily commit such enormous potential mistakes. It would surely come back to bite him in the ass at some point.

Allowing himself to enjoy the boy's company. To actually look forward to him showing up each day. What the bloody hell was wrong with him? Had he managed to form some deeper magical bond between the two of them with his blood ritual, without even meaning to?

He had to admit, in retrospect, that he hadn't entirely taken that into account.

He pushed himself away from his desk and groaned slightly in frustration.

Bloody hell, he was wishing that Potter was still there...

He growled at himself in annoyance. He was acting idiotic. He got to his feet and walked across the room to a cabinet and opened it up to reveal some bottles of cognac. He pulled out his wand and conjured a snifter glass and quickly poured some of the liquor into the glass. He swirled it around and slowly drank from the large glass as he strolled about the room, lost in his thoughts.

What was he going to do about Potter? He found himself actually hoping that the boy would choose to stay with him during the summer, and he wasn't sure how exactly he felt about that. Would the boy be a distraction, or could he be made useful? And what of the Death Eaters? The more people who knew of Potter's allegiances, the riskier things became. They absolutely could not risk Dumbledore discovering what was happening.

He was sure he could convince Potter to assume a disguise of some sort while he was in the manor, once the other Death Eaters began to frequent the place. But his Death Eaters would expect him to do something about Harry Potter. There were some in the lower ranks who might even be stupid enough to try and go after Potter in hopes that their actions would garner them praise, respect, or rewards from their Lord. That could pose to be a real nuisance.

And if Voldemort appeared to be ignoring Potter all together, or ordered them to all leave him be without providing sufficient rational why, Voldemort could be seen as weak, or even fearful of the Boy-Who-Lived, and he absolutely couldn't have that.

He suspected that he was going to have to tell his inner circle, at least, about Potter's allegiances, but he would have to be careful how he revealed it. He would need to spend some time with his old followers to gauge their reliability first. He had been gone an awfully long time, and many of them had moved on to positions of wealth and power. Those with wealth and power were useful to him, however, they had much to lose too. They would be less willing to risk their lives and their livelihoods for him.

He heaved a heavy sigh and set his now-empty glass down on his desk. He would think on it later. For now, he decided to go relax in the bath and clear his mind. He was getting nothing done anyway.

– –

Harry slipped away from Ron right after lunch before Divination, by running off to 'use the loo' real fast. He ducked into an alcove, pulled on his invisibility cloak and activated the map. Just as he was slipping out the front door of the castle, he saw a second dot with the name 'Harry Potter' moving back into the bathroom he had just vacated a few moments ago, and then walking back out to join the dot labeled 'Ron Weasley'. Harry grinned to himself, satisfied that he wasn't going to have any trouble, all thanks to the time-turner, and he quickly made his way across the grounds and towards the path to Hogsmeade.

He spent a total of three hours at Voldemort's manor house that day. For a little over an hour and forty-five minutes, Voldemort sat in the center of the room, working on his meditation while Harry worked on the essay that Professor Sprout had assigned that morning in Herbology. Once he was done with his meditations, Voldemort sat down in his desk chair and pulled forward the newspapers that Harry assumed Wormtail had collected for him.

A half an hour later, Harry was suddenly startled by the feeling on long slender fingers threading into his hair. A wide smile spread across his face instantly at the familiar, gentle touch, and he sighed easily as he leaned back against the chair and turned his head to the side a bit, allowing the Dark Lord a better angle with which to play with Harry's hair.

Voldemort's ministrations continued for quite a while, and Harry just sat there, enjoying it far more than he thought he should. Voldemort was allowing his fingers to deeply comb through Harry's messy raven hair, and he gently dragged his fingertips against Harry's scalp, massaging it and bringing forth little keening noises from the back of his throat.

Harry was startled out of his drunken haze by the sound of Voldemort's deep, smooth, chuckles.

"Enjoying this, are you?" He asked with amusement in his voice.

Harry instantly felt a blush cover his face and neck, and for a moment he simply had no idea how to respond. Finally he decided that there really was no reason at all to lie or try to save face. He had just sat there for who-knows-how-long getting pet.

"As a matter of fact, I am," Harry said in as confident a tone as he could manage, considering what he was admitting to, and who he was admitting it to.

"Cocky brat," Voldemort said with a low quiet chuckle and went right back to rubbing circles into Harry's scalp with his fingers.

Another few minutes passed in silence. At first Harry felt himself remain fairly tense, since he was wondering if Voldemort would make anymore comments on how fundamentally weird what they were doing was, but he didn't. Finally Harry began to melt back into a state of hazy relaxation. He found he never could stay tense or uncomfortable for very long when he was this close to Voldemort. He couldn't possibly explain why, it just was.

As best as Harry could figure, it had to have something to do with the fact that the man felt so similar to what Harry felt from the piece of his soul that resided within him. He was so accustomed to turning to his companion to relax and escape from everything, that it just felt natural to do that around Voldemort.

This explained why Harry felt so comfortable around Voldemort, but it didn't explain to him why Voldemort would be putting up with it, let alone reciprocating in the way he was by playing with Harry's hair. But Harry didn't want to question it. He realized that he had been almost terrified to eventhink about the event a few nights prior when Voldemort had first done it. Afraid that if it was spoken of, it would break the spell and it would never happen again.

And yet, Voldemort had done just that and yet the spell hadn't been broken. He was still playing with Harry's hair as if nothing were odd. Then tiny fear and tension that had remained in Harry dissolved away now that the strange thing they were doing had been vaguely acknowledged, and yet not stopped. He still didn't understand it, but at least they had both admitted it was happening and that neither was going to make the move to stop it.

Harry grinned wider as he let out a slow, satisfied sigh, followed instantly by an appreciative hum as Voldemort's long fingers trailed down to the nape of his neck and back up again.

All too soon, it had to come to an end. Harry heaved a sigh and stood to his feet, stretching out his back before bending back over and picking up his bag.

He bid the Dark Lord goodbye, and his farewell was returned, making him grin to himself.

Harry used the time-turner, returned to the school and slipped back into the bathroom under his invisibility cloak, exiting only a minute after he had originally entered the bathroom, several hours earlier. He and Ron then quickly trudged their way up to the tower for their Divination class.

– –

"That woman is infuriating!" Harry growled as he strode into Voldemort's study and instantly plopped himself down onto the floor beside Voldemort's chair. The Dark Lord leaned back and twisted in his chair to look down at Harry with mild amusement.

"Is that so?" Voldemort asked dryly.

"YES!" Harry all but yelled. "She is SUCH A HACK! And it just pisses me off that it's because of her that so much insane shit has happened to me! I sit there choking in that damned incense-filled tower and all I can think about is how badly I wish I could just curse her into oblivion! She just won't leave me be! Like it's not bad enough that she managed to make some crazed prophecy before I was even born, and get you and Dumbledore on my back, but every bloody week in class she has to pick me out and prophecize some new horrible way in which I will meet my gruesome and grizzly end. She just... URGH!"

"Are you done yet?" Voldemort asked flatly after a few minutes passed while Harry sat there stewing in his own frustration.

Harry mumbled something under his breath before heaving a sign and leaning back against the chair. "Yeah," he grumbled.

"Good. Did you get another opportunity to try and read her mind?"

"Yes, a couple times actually. And I got nothing. I keep trying to sift through the memories using different keywords or images, but I couldn't find a thing."

"What sorts of things were you looking for?" Voldemort said, leaning back in his chair and letting his left hand drape down over the armrest and instantly intertwining his fingers into Harry's hair.

Harry felt the effects instantly and visibly relaxed. "Uh... the bits of the prophecy that we do know... dark lord, vanquish... I tried searching for any memories about job interviews, and I did manage to come up with a flash of something, but it didn't seem quite right and then it was gone."

"In what way did it not 'seem quite right?" Voldemort asked.

"Well, you mentioned before that the thing was overheard while she was doing a job interview with Dumbledore, and that it took place at the Hog's Head, right?"

"Correct."

"Well, I got a glimpse of a job interview with Dumbledore, but they weren't at the pub, they were up in his office. It was like the job interview had just started and suddenly it got all hazy and cloudy, and suddenly it went white."

Voldemort's fingers paused in Harry's hair. "It went white?"

"Yeah... does that mean something?" Harry asked, turning his head to look up over his shoulder.

"I often see altered, suppressed, or obliviated memories get hazy just before turning white..." Voldemort said in a low, contemplative voice.

"Obliviated memories?" Harry echoed with interest.

"Yes... curious. And it was at the start of the interview, you say? But not in the pub, in Dumbledore's office?"

"Yeah. She had just entered his office and he greeted her and thanked her for coming. She blathered on about the honor and how her great grandmum was some great seer or something. She sat down in the chair opposite his desk and they were just about to get down to things when it got all cloudy."

"Very curious..."

Harry sat there waiting patiently through a long silence. Voldemort's fingers resumed their ministrations in his hair and he began to melt into a thick relaxed state.

"I want you to try something next time you get to look into her mind," Voldemort suddenly said, causing Harry to jerk out of his stupor.

"Sure, what should I do?" Harry asked eagerly.

"You said you witnessed one of her other real prophecies. It is likely that all of the legitimate prophecies she makes are stored in the same place in her subconscious. Try searching for the memory that you personally witnessed and then look for others around it that are related to it. That might give you better results.

Harry nodded thoughtful as he considered this. "Alright. Sounds worth a try. What do you think is up with Trelawney's memories being tampered with?"

"I cannot say at this point. We need more information."

"Alright. I'll keep digging."

"Good."

Harry nodded his head and eased back against the chair and Voldemort easily resumed petting Harry's hair.

"I didn't expect you to come back again tonight, and certainly not so soon. You realize that you really only just left about twenty minutes before you returned because of the time difference?" Voldemort said after a few silent minutes passed.

"Is that alright? I don't want to be a bother." Harry asked hesitantly. When he had left Divination he had been in such a state that all he could think of was how badly he wanted to be back at the manor that he'd slipped away at the first opportunity he'd had and gone straight there.

"You're not a bother, Potter." Voldemort said dismissively. "Have you eaten yet?"

"Er, no, I haven't. Came here right after class," Harry replied, slightly confused.

"Mixey!" Voldemort called out, causing Harry to sit up straighter in even greater confusion. A second later there was a pop! and a small wrinkled house elf appeared in the room. Harry blinked at her with owlish eyes.

"Mixey, Harry will be joining me for dinner. Set a place for him at the table," Voldemort said easily.

"Yes, Master," the house elf said in a timid voice before bowing down so low that her huge floppy ears brushed the floor and then disappearing with another pop.

"You got a house elf," Harry observed with surprise, while also reeling from the fact that he had just been referred to by his first name again.

"Yes," Voldemort drawled easily. "I completed the magical contract and acquired her two days ago. She seems to be working out so far. Undeniably a better cook than Wormtail ever was. Plus I can send her to Diagon Alley to fetch things for me. I could never risk that with Wormtail, lest he be recognized."

"Well that makes sense... you know, I don't even know how one goes about getting a house elf."

"You can often buy their magical contracts through Gringotts. The bank attains control when an estate goes without an heir, or the heir does not desire to claim the house-elf's contract. Wizarding families also often sell them off when their services are no longer needed, or desired. In those cases, it's just a matter of knowing who to contact to find whats available. Mixey, I believe, came from some old witch who died a number of months ago and had no children or heirs. She's been without a master ever since. I acquired her through the goblins."

"You, as in you personally? Like... you went to Gringotts, or did you just arrange it by owl?" Harry asked, his own curiosity preventing him from holding back the questions.

"I did the initial arrangements by owl, but I did have to go in person to finalize the contract. But I needed to visit the bank anyway to sort some things out with my old vault."

Harry twisted around and looked up at Voldemort with a dropped jaw. "You went to Diagon Alley, in person?"

Voldemort smirked. "I did. I used a few minor glamors, but not much."

"The Dark Lord Voldemort went strolling through Diagon Alley and visited Gringotts bank and no one was any the wiser..." Harry said slowly before beginning to chuckle. "Why do I find that so funny?"

"Because the fools would be in an utter panic if they knew?"

Harry laughed and nodded his head. "Yes, that's why. You're right." He chuckled and then went quiet. "Do the goblins know who you are? You said you had to sort things out with your old vault? It's all still there?"

"The goblins have special spells that detect when one of their customers is dead. The spells never said I was dead, so my accounts were never closed. My account manager informed me that both Dumbledore and the Ministry made numerous attempts to seize control of my vault and it's contents, but the Goblins are a neutral party and have no loyalty to either the Ministry or Dumbledore. Their loyalty is solely to their customers' gold. I have to admit, I'm impressed by their actions. They easily could have saved themselves a lot of grief by simply handing my things over.

"I'm also sure that Dumbledore found it exceedingly interesting that the goblin's spells stated I was not dead," Voldemort continued with a wide grin. Harry chuckled.

"I'm sure he did..."

"In any case, the account is under my... real name, but the goblins are aware enough to know who I am."

"Aren't you afraid that they may inform the Ministry or Dumbledore that you were there?"

"I'm confident that they will not. Client confidentiality is one of their most prized values. And even if they do go and tell, while it may put Dumbledore on his guard, I highly doubt the Ministry would take the warnings seriously. From what I can tell, Cornelius Fudge lives in a state of constant denial."

Harry laughed, hard, which was apparently contagious because even Voldemort chuckled lightly.

Their laugh was interrupted by another soft pop, and the sudden reappearance of Mixey.

"Dinner is being readys, Master," the little elf squeaked as she bowed low."

"Good, Mixey. We'll be down in a moment."

"Yes, Master," she squeaked again before popping away.

Voldemort sighed and pushed himself out of his chair while Harry quickly got to his feet. Voldemort led Harry down to the first floor, through a few corridors and into a fairly roomy dining hall. It had a long table, but only two places were set, the seat at the head of the table, and the one right next to it on it's right. The two took their seats and a moment later the food appeared on the table before them.

Part of Harry acknowledged that the situation he found himself in was rather surreal, but a much bigger part of himself felt too comfortable to care, so he just went with it.

"Tell me, Potter," Voldemort began after several quiet minutes of eating, "why the hell are you even taking Divination?"

Harry groaned. "Because I was an idiot at the end of my second year? Which we've already recognized as fact. Basically, my 'best mate' talked me into it. The idea was that the class would be an 'easy O'. A 'light class' that would be easy to take and easy to pass and not have much work. Of course now I realize that's an utterly idiotic reason to be taking it, but at the end of my second year, it seemed valid enough. I'm actually looking into switching my electives over to Runes and Arithmancy for next year. I'm planning to talk to McGonagall about it after my next Transfiguration class on Thursday. If I start taking those subjects next year, and get into the same class as the 3rd years, I'll be able to take my OWLs during my seventh year."

"I could tutor you in them over the summer. They could test you and you could end up in class with the 4th years instead of the 3rd years. That way you're only one year behind instead of two. With additional tutoring each summer, you could easily sit your NEWTs on time," Voldemort offered easily and Harry blinked at him with honest surprise.

"Seriously?"

Voldemort rolled his eyes and waved his hand dismissively before taking another bite of his steak.

"I mean... won't you be really busy?"

"I will have enough free time for that. Besides, I imagine things will continue to progress slowly for quite some time to come. My current plans necessitate 'laying low' for a while. I won't be starting active raids for at least a year. There is too much behind-the-scenes ground work that needs to be done before the public becomes aware of my return."

"If you're really sure..."

"Do not make me repeat myself again, Potter."

Harry ducked his head and grinned. "Alright. Thank you. Really. That would be really brilliant." Harry said with an air of awe, feeling legitimately overwhelmed.

"This, of course, is dependent on you staying in the manor over the summer. If you choose to go on holiday out of the country, instead, it won't be possible."

"Oh... well, I really hadn't given the whole 'going out of country' thing a lot of thought. Is... is it really alright with you if I stay here?" Harry asked, still feeling rather disbelieving of all this.

Voldemort sighed in annoyance. "Yes Potter, you're making me repeat myself Potter."

"Right. Sorry," Harry said quickly and then ducked his head again to hide the huge grin spreading across his lips. He didn't know why exactly, but he felt exceedingly happy right then.

Light, but easy, conversation flowed throughout the rest of dinner. Voldemort asked Harry a few more things about his studies and his interests, but discussion was kept generally minimal during the meal. They returned to the study afterwards and assumed their usual positions, with Voldemort in his chair, and Harry on the floor beside it. Voldemort waved his wand and summoned a stack of Daily Prophets that Harry assumed he must of either sent Mixey out for, or acquired himself during his trip to Diagon Alley. And Harry pulled out his Defense textbook and a half-written essay that he had due for 'Moody's' class later that week.

It was nearly 9pm before Harry finally packed up his things and left after bidding Voldemort goodbye. He used the time-turner to return to shortly before the end of his Divination class, so that he could get back to the Great Hall at the same time that his earlier self had left it.

He wasn't really feeling hungry, but enough time had passed since he had eaten dinner with Voldemort that he was able to eat a bit. He was already feeling pretty tired, but with all the time-turner use lately, his body was beginning to adjust to his strange and erratic schedule.

He slipped away from Hermione and Ron around 8pm and went down to the chamber for an hour to continue copying some more pages out of the book, but found himself too tired to put up with the utter silence of the room. His companion slipped into the back of his conscious mind, but it just wasn't the same as actually being in a room with Voldemort. He was becoming so accustomed to the man's company that he actually felt a bit lonely without him there.

Ron and Hermione's company felt hollow, but it was better than nothing, so he returned to the common room and ended up having a lengthy discussion with Hermione about the Defense essay that was due at the end of the week. Hermione was quite stunned to learn that Harry had gotten it finished already and insisted on reading it over to double-check his work. He found the insinuation that he had 'rushed through it' and as such, probably done a sloppy job, rather irritating, but he humored her and allowed her to read it through. When she was done, and couldn't find a thing wrong with it, he smiled at her with a smug satisfaction..

#Harry Potter #Tom Riddle #Dark!Harry #Tomarry #Harry Potter and the descent into Darkness..

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random-imagines-blog · 6 years ago

Text

Shut Me Up {Tom Riddle One Shot}

Requested by: Anonymous Wordcount: 4788 Synopsis: A Slytherin and a Gryffindor do their prefect rounds together and run into a spot of trouble on Halloween Night. Notes: John Murphy as Tom Riddle.

The Halloween celebrations at Hogwarts were legendary, and much looked forward to by students and staff alike. Pumpkins, carved with faces and sprinkled with cinnamon and brown sugar, brought both the autumn look and smell to the great hall as they hovered above the tables during the feast. Some of the students went as far as to wear costumes, though most were attired in their warmer robes with bright colored scarves around their necks in shades of orange. Honeydukes in Hogsmeade had provided mountains of candy which piled up around the puddings during dessert, but the feast was not the highlight of the day for many of the students. That would come later, when the teachers retired to their rooms except for those on patrol, for Halloween was a night of mischief for ghost and student alike.

All prefects were put on patrol duty for the night, and that meant that you - a fifth year prefect representing the proud house of Gryffindor - were out of bed and wandering the dark castle rather than sharing a cup of pumpkin juice with your friends and guessing if the candy handed to you was an acid pop or a muggle lollipop. You weren’t alone, but you might as well have been for you had been paired with Tom Riddle, Slytherin prefect, and a person known for being the strong and silent type, and not at all given to conversation, even to pass the time.

Tom Riddle walked with his hands clasped behind his straight back. His eyes were always ahead, never on you. He didn’t even suggest bringing out his wand and casting lumos so you two could see if anyone was standing in the shadows, he seemed to be able to see in the dark. The candles were just enough for you to be able to tell if something was moving but apart from that, you were blind.

You couldn’t take it anymore and brought out your wand, casting the light giving spell, but immediately, the Slytherin beside you gently pressed it down so it was pointed at the floor. “We want to catch people, not let them on to our presence so they can stop their activities.” He spoke, his voice deeper than that of most people your age. You rolled your eyes, persistent on keeping the light.

“I’d rather them stop their activities and go to bed than have to chase them around the castle, in the dark nonetheless.” You argued.

“Shh.” He said, and muttered the counterspell to darken your wand. You opened your mouth to argue but realized that it would be absolutely pointless in this case. Any other Slytherin, you would have taken on, but there was something to Tom Riddle that made you stop and ponder whether it was a good idea. It didn’t matter if it was or not at that moment, for you too heard whatever noise that he had his ears caught onto.

Around a corner, there was sounds of muffled laughter. Students out of bed, and as of yet uncaught by the caretaker or a prefect. You just had to hope that they were not Gryffindor students, giving your house a bad name and the potential of getting points taken away which was something that you could ill afford at this time.

You held your wand in your hand, your thumb grazing a knot in the wood, ready to defend yourself from an ever-bashing boomerang or a dungbomb or whatever they might have had planned.

You were much more subtle than Tom, creeping rather than merely stepping, hoping to catch them off guard, startle them into silence and enforce some discipline which was your responsibility, but Tom’s footsteps could be heard down the hall. It did not scare away the students, but brought about some laughter and shushing. They were evidently not going to be giving up on their prank, no matter who it was that would pass into it.

The two of you turned into the next Hallway but it was empty. A flash of movement in one of the classrooms caught your attentions however. You grabbed onto Tom’s robe and chased after it, heading into the unused room. You raised your wand to light it again but the sound of the door slamming shut behind you, and then being blocked rather than just locked, was loud enough for you not to hear yourself reciting the spell. It lit anyhow, and the white light showed that the two of you were not alone.

There was something pale in the corner of the room. It had spots missing from it, but the light from the end of your wand reflected off the white, making it appear like a ghost. You thought perhaps it might be one of the many Hogwarts ghosts on a late night stroll but the thing moved closer and showed a much more solid form than any of the ghosts had. Each step had an odd sound, like rubber slapping against wood, followed by a squeak like a person coming out of the rain.

“Stay there,” You said, raising your wand. Tom took a step closer to the figure, his arm also raised, and the thing changed itself, following into shadow and dropping onto the ground noiselessly. It was only the wind coming from it as it fell that gave you any indication of what had happened.

Tom lit his wand as well, finally using his common sense in your opinion, and took a few confident strides over until he stopped suddenly.

“What is it?” You questioned, whispering.

“Boggart.” He finally spoke. Your mind whirled with this new information, and curiosity did overtake you. You knew that you would do well to retreat back to the door, cast a blasting spell to get whatever blocked it out of the way and capture the students who had locked you inside - but you were curious about what the fear of someone like Tom Riddle would be.

The light showed the figure on the floor, with dark hair covering his eyes, pale skin nearly glowing. The blood that was on the hands, and on some of the exposed skin, was a violent crimson that could not soon be forgotten. Tom kicked the figure just a little, to reveal its face.

Tom’s own.

You gasped and put your hand to your mouth. It took a moment for you to control your breathing, but now that you had, all you could think about was going out that door and taking all of the points away from those students, no matter which house you were in, and report them to the Headmaster immediately.

“Ridikkulus.” Tom said, the light at the end of his wand going out, and was replaced by the sparkle of the spell. The body was lifted, and started to jerk and dance about like it was a puppet on strings. This attempt to make it funny just made you feel more uneasy. You started to feel sick to your stomach.

But eventually the puppeted corpse of the boy next to you dissipated, and in it’s stead, a clown stood. The corners of it’s large red mouth were particularly pointy, the nose was as red as blood. The pointed cone-shaped hat that was on it’s head seemed as sharp as the end of a needle, and it’s eyes as black as coal.

Seeing it brought you back to third year, when you had learned how to deal with Boggarts in DADA class. Relax, do not give into fear, think of something to make this big nosed, big footed thing amusing. Pointing the wand right at the clown’s chest, you muttered ‘Ridikkulus.”

A popping sound filled the empty room, and then a wheezing. Like the balloons that clowns often carried, this clown was leaking air and folding in itself until there was nothing left but a deflated shape. That soon disappeared, and the two of you were left in utter darkness. A few seconds later, before you could respond to what had just happened, a wardrobe door opened and shut, the boggart trapping itself since it had been beaten.

And in another couple of seconds, a blast came from the direction of the door that you had come in through, as Tom used ‘Bombarda’ to literally make it explode out from it’s hinges. Once the dust settled, you were out of there, following the Slytherin prefect as he ran after the boys that had locked the two of you in there with literally your worst fears.

In the dark of the castle, you seemed to have lost them. The adrenaline and the fear had gotten the best of you back in the classroom, and you leaned against a wall in the corridor to catch your breath.

“Do you care to tell me why a classroom has been blown up?” You looked up to see a tall figure walking towards you, but you felt no anger, surprise or fear. The voice was that of the kindly Transfigurations professor, Dumbledore. You explained as quickly as possible what had happened, and that you had lost the trail of your co-prefect and the culprits. “Return to your dormitory, and you’ll be summoned in the morning to tell this all to Professor Dippet.” He said, calmly. You nodded, excused yourself and headed to the Gryffindor tower, unable to get the sight of the clown out of your mind.

The next morning, you were indeed called to Professor Dippet’s office after breakfast, where you stood with Tom, and the three seventh year Slytherin boys who had been the ones to pull the prank. You explained your piece, and were told in return that the boys would be receiving detention with Professor Slughorn every weekend for the next three months. That didn’t seem good enough to you - the Professor would probably bond with the boys over their rich and resourceful families and treat them to desserts, but you didn’t press the issue. Dippet did what he deemed best and as prefect, you had to trust that it was the right thing.

“Clowns.” Tom murmured as the two of you walked back to the staircases to proceed to your next lessons, which you were already running late for but you had signed notes from Dippet.

“Excuse me?” You asked, thinking that you heard him wrong, for it was such an odd thing to say.

“Your boggart was a clown.” Tom stated. You shot him a glance as you hopped up on one of the staircases as it started to change direction. He had stepped on as well but didn’t give you a single look.

“Have you seen those things? Terrifying. Definitely not appropriate for children at all.” You justified yourself. You very well could bring up his but anything personal about Tom felt off-limits to you. It was strange to even consider.

“They entertain children.”

“By hiding their faces and features under caked on paint, laughing menacingly, spraying water in your face, honking your nose, waving at you from across the room with it’s obnoxiously big white gloves...” You went on. “I’m not ashamed of it.”

“Clearly.” Tom said, with what sounded like amusement in his voice.

He stepped up a stair to join you, and you found his closeness to be quite uncomfortable. He was silent now, and you felt the pressure of having to say something, anything, to get rid of the quiet tension. “Can we just pretend that it never happened? I won’t ask you any questions about yours, and you leave me alone about mine.”

“Fine.” Tom said with a nod. The staircase clicked itself into place, and you proceeded up the rest of the way and onto the landing, looking over your shoulder at Tom, who stayed on the staircase as it moved away from the sixth floor corridor towards the Astronomy tower. You shook your head to yourself, and attempted to brush off the cold feeling that had come over you when you had stood near him.

The students that had been apprehended had been looking at you and sniggering all throughout breakfast, which made you feel uneasy. Your friends noticed it and kept shooting them dirty looks - one of them even offered to send a howler, pretending to be their mothers, but you rejected it. It would just make things worse, you felt, so you took the high road and attempted to ignore it. That was until you and most of the other students started to get up, adjust your robes, and head off to your first class of the day.

Through the massive doors that lead to the great hall strode in a clown. Okay, it may just have been Peeves the Poltergeist in a polka-dotted get up with some sort of colored grease paint all over his face, which you weren’t sure was possible since his face was not exactly solid, but it was still enough for you to lower your face to the ground, put your hands over your ears, and take a deep breath. You attempted to imagine that you were anywhere else but here as the jingling sounds of the bells on Peeves’ hat moved closer and closer.

Footsteps echoed on the floor as they came closer to you. You could just hear them over the sound of people in the Great Hall laughing at what, to you, was a terrifying sight that made you feel like you could melt into a puddle on the floor.

“Leave, Peeves.” Tom Riddle said, his voice forceful enough to make you shudder. If he had ever talked to you like that, you weren’t sure what you would do. And you were put in Gryffindor for a reason - you did have a great deal of bravery, he was just that intimidating.

“Itsy Little Riddle - I’ve got a Riddle for you!” Peeves said, bouncing around, making his hat jingle all the more. “I live for laughter, I live for the crowd, without it I am nothing, what am I?” He laughed loudly.

“We get it, you’re a clown.” Tom said, his voice even. “I’m sure the Baron will find it hilarious. I’ll summon him now-”

“Aiiee!” Peeves the Clown immediately fell through the floor, leaving the hat and clothing on the floor, which you only saw when you finally opened your eyes, following no further noise from the poltergeist. You avoided looking at the clothes after your first glimpse, and you definitely avoided looking at Tom. Rather, you just hurried from the Hall as fast as you could, and away from the laughter.

The Prefects bathroom was where you went, rather than the classroom. You went to the sinks, put your hands on either side of one of them, and took a couple of deep breaths. The vision of the deranged clown that the boggart had turned into flashed into your mind and you winced.

“I suspect it was those seventh years who put Peeves to the task.” Riddle said, strolling in. You looked at him through the mirror, but said nothing. He had as much right to be in here as you do, since you are both prefects. “I can’t prove it, however.”

“They got their laughs,” You said, straightening your back and then adjusted your red and gold striped tie that showed off your Gryffindor pride. It directly opposed Tom’s green and silver tie and badge. “But then again, your house is known for being utterly relentless.” You caught his eye in the reflection.

“Aren’t Gryffindors supposed to be brave?” He retorted, coming in closer to you. He stood directly behind but your eyes hadn’t moved, staring straight into his through the mirror. He leaned forward, his chest against your back, and turned on the water in the sink. “Splash some water on your face, you look pathetic.”

“Yeah, yeah, we’ll see how you react if anyone ever makes Peeves dress up as your corpse.” You said, doing as he had said for you to do, and splashed some cold water on your face. To your surprise, Tom held out a towel to you after that was done, and you took it and dried yourself off.

“Don’t ever mention that to anyone.” Tom threatened. You pretended not to hear him, using the towel to dry some of your flyaway hairs that had become wet as well.

“Did people see?” You asked, tossing the towel into the laundry bin where it would go down to the house elves, be washed, and brought back up. “My reaction, I mean, Peeves was hard to miss.”

“I doubt it, they were laughing until I ruined their fun.”

“Good. I’d hate for them to think I need to be shut up in an asylum because I cannot stand the sight of clowns.” You turned around and faced Tom straight on, and gave a weak smile. Despite the ribbing, you were still thankful that he had helped you in the Great Hall and that he had followed you in here. “They’re lucky I don’t know what they’re afraid of.”

“Do you want to find out?” Tom asked. The question hung in the air like a heavy cloud. He was full of surprises today, but this one was one of the bigger ones. He was never one to mess with drama, at least not in the school. He kept his focus on his studies, and on himself, he never gave a care about the other students, in a good or a bad way. This was the most Slytherin like that he had ever seemed to you.

“No.” You said, after a few minute deliberation. “They aren’t worth the trouble that we may get into. However - the moment that I graduate from this school, I’m tracking them down and challenging them to a duel. I plan to bombard them into the last century.” You said, with a determined tension in your jaw. Tom snickered - actually goddamn snickered at your gumption.

“Now that, I would like to see.” Tom said, retreating from you to head back towards the door. “I’ve got a few plans of my own.”

“Are you going to be a prankster, Tom Riddle?” He hardly seemed the type. He was so uptight, and so serious. He probably never went near a dungbomb in his life.

“No.” He said, as if it was the most preposterous idea that he had ever heard. “I’m not sinking to their level. I’m raising them to mine. Excuse me,” And with a bow of his curly black hair, he left the prefects bathroom. A moment later, you followed, heading the opposite way however to get to your first class of the day.

At which point did Tom realize that he was doing things for you, and not for himself? He couldn’t say - it had always been in the back of brain, that image of you, the way that you had shut down when you saw your greatest fear in front of you. It fascinated him, it intrigued him how you had frozen rather than face your weakness. Loud and obnoxious, those seventh year Slytherins were, and so it was easy to find them after dinner when he entered the Common Room. “Someone’s come to get the bloody baron before the Gryffindork pees themself?” One of them laughed, seeing Tom Riddle enter the dreary room.

“Interesting, isn’t it? The way that the simplest minds get fixated on one thing, when they should be worrying about many others.” Tom said, cool as an ice cube. “Now, for instance, yours shouldn’t be focused on the prefect, or on clowns, but on yourselves. I’d be very much concerned about that.” Maybe it was the tone of voice, the detection of a threat or how unfazed Tom was that alarmed the three boys. “Chances are, someone is going to stand up for them eventually, and it’s going to be known that you’re the only ones who knows about the clowns. Or maybe she’ll stand up for herself? Or maybe this will backfire in your face and it’ll be you on the end of the Bloody Baron’s sword. Maybe all the above.”

“I wouldn’t talk so much if I were you, prefect.” The largest of the boys said, forcing a smirk onto his face. “You could just have a laugh like the rest of us are doing.”

Tom brought out his wand, and quickly - very quietly - mumbled out the silencing charm on this leader. It was one of his own invention. Instead of just taking away the voice, it took away the entire mouth, leaving the skin from nose to chin without marr or features.

“The Gryffindor prefect is under my protection.” He gave no excuses, no reason for declaring it. He could have a million things to say, like it was because he didn’t want the trouble or the house points taken away. Those weren’t the reasons. He had no need to justify himself. “If one more clown related thing happens, I will have no remorse over what I will do to you.”

The two boys who weren’t silenced were much too fussed over their leader to pay much attention, but they nodded their heads, not wanting the same thing to happen to them. With his wand raised straight in front of his face, Tom strode in close to the mouthless boy, and raised an eyebrow. “Are we clear?”

The boys fingers touched where his mouth had been, and tried to open a space that wasn’t there. Hysterical grunts came through his nose, but he nodded in response to Tom, who poked the boys face and brought the mouth back. “Good. Not a word, lads.”

Over the next couple of weeks, there were no more sightings of clowns. Not a letter, not a ghost dressed up as one, not a thing, and you started to wonder if it had anything to do with the fact that Tom always seemed to be hanging around you now. Since your time together in the prefects bathroom, he seemed to be strolling behind you on your way to class, or sharing your table in the library when you went to study.

You started to welcome the company of the isolated teenager, slowing your pace so that he would have no choice but to either stop or join you on your walks, and you started to share books as well so you wouldn’t have to hunt for a second copy of something you both needed for an essay. It began to be easier to be around him. With you being a Gryffindor, and him a Slytherin, there was some tension still when it came to certain topics but you eased him into a friendship, slowly but surely.

You might even be the only friend that he’s ever had.

In the library, close to the end of the school year, you were studying for your OWLS diligently. Around you were all the different textbooks of the classes that you were taking, and you were jotting down important notes then muttering them to yourself so they would stick in your head better. Tom had joined you, and though he too took notes, there was no sound at all coming from his corner of the table other than the rustling of parchment and the turning of pages.

Then there was three minutes of straight silence. No quill scratching, nothing, so you looked over to his side of the table and saw him sitting straight, a dark look in his eyes, glaring over your shoulder. Slowly, you turned your head around with no expectations of what it was that Tom would be giving this look to. What you saw were the three seventh years who had locked you and Tom in the room with the boggart. They were trying to look brave, but you could see right through them. They had fear in their eyes as they looked right back at Tom.

“What is that, in your hand?” Tom asked viciously, getting to his feet.

“It’s a card for my little brother -” One of them said, and held it up. There was a dancing clown on the cover of the card. It looked happy and jolly, and held up a big banner that said ‘Happy Birthday’. It wasn’t at all menacing but it still put a shiver down your spine and you tuned to look away from it.

“Incendio.” Tom had his wand out in the short time that you had looked over your shoulder. Your mouth fell open as you realize what he had just done - he burned the card until it was nothing but ashes on the library rug.

“No magic in the library!” The sharp-voiced librarian said from behind her desk. Her eyes were like that of a hawk and her ears that of a dog or something, for she knew exactly who it was. “Mr. Riddle, out!”

With that same dark look in his eyes, he slid his books and parchment into his bag, and walked out, leaving a cold feeling in the room despite the fire.

“If you didn’t have a fear of clowns, my brother would get a birthday card this year.” One of the seventh years glowered at you. You stood up and packed your own things, then made a face over at the older boy, then rushed out to catch up with Tom, your mind trying to figure out what had just happened. Both you and Tom have run into these boys since their little prank, and there had never been this sort of reaction.

You saw the dark-haired boy turn a corner, so you quickened up your pace to catch up. “Tom!” You called out, making him slow down. You stopped in front of him, and poked his chest hard with your index finger. “Why did you do that? He wasn’t bothering you!”

“I told him that if he, or any of his friends, came near you with any sort of clown-themed thing, I’d do something to them. As it happens, burning a card is the least that I could have done.” Tom said, flippantly.

“You think that I can’t handle myself?” You questioned.

“You’ve proven that you freeze up if someone is even dressed as a clown, so no.” Tom took hold of your wrist and forced you to walk alongside him. “So I have to take care of you, for you.”

“Oh no you don’t! I fight my own battles, Mr. Riddle!” The anger that was bubbling in you, the bravado that came from being a Gryffindor, meant that you were going for the complete formal rather than informal. But you were not stupid enough to continue on when he gave you the dirty look he had given to the seventh years.

“Don’t ever call me that.” He spat. “You’re the only one here that I even remotely care about, so you’re mine and I’m going to take care of you until this stupid fear of yours is gone.”

“I don’t know whether to be flattered or offended.” You folded your arms in front of your chest, leaned on the heels of your feet and looked down at the floor. “Tom - if you want to be friends, lets be friends. Drop this whole clown thing. I will be fine. I’m not going to go into hysterics over a bloody birthday card, now am I?” You glowered.

“Friends?” Tom asked as if it were some sort of alien concept to him. The confusion and the aggression did not mix well, and his face showed that conflict. He muttered it again, wiped his mouth across his lips and then laughed. “Friends?” He said once more. If he was trying to scare you off, it wasn’t working. Rather, you stood still in your place.

“Friends.” You said firmly. “A level above acquaintance. But now thanks to you, we have to find a better place to study. Let’s go to the courtyard.”

With your backpack tight around your shoulder, you walked off in the direction of the beautiful outdoor courtyard which was blooming with Spring flowers. Tom watched you go, looking at the way that your hips swayed as you walked. As you took command.

“Unbelievable.” He said, but followed after like a disciplined puppy.

#Tom Riddle #Tom Riddle oneshot #Tom Riddle x reader #Voldemort #Voldemort oneshot #Voldemort x reader #Harry Potter #Harry Potter oneshot #oneshots #request #TomR

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mister-tom-a-dildo-lover · 7 years ago

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Strive Pt. 16 INTERLUDE II

{PART 1} {PART 2} {PART 3} {PART 4} {PART 5} {PART 6} {PART 7} {PART 8} {PART 9} {PART 10} {PART 11} {PART 12} {PART 13} {PART 14} {PART 15}

Pair: Tomarry

Rating: M-E(depends)

Tags: Mild Language, Homosexuality, Sexism, Obsessed Tom, Time-Travel/Dimension-Travel, Teacher/Student, Eventual Romance, Teacher-Harry, Grey!Harry, MoD(sort of), Death!being,

"As things stand, I cannot in good conscience, allow you to remain as the Deputy Headmaster. If the Auror Department are investigating you and your actions, Albus, it'll look bad on the reputations of not only the school, but myself included, if I was to remain silent on the matter. I have already expressed concerns to the Daily Prophet."

Harry had seen it coming, but he hadn't expected it to happen so soon. But indeed, Albus Dumbledore was getting booted from a position of power, because his bias had gotten him in trouble. Because he had attempted to tear a family down and Harry and Mortimer wouldn't allow it.

He had never been a fan of the Malfoys, but he didn't think stalking their every move to try to catch them in something was right. He'd learned from past mistakes. Also, the Aurors hadn't actually paid attention to their duty, which was why they got in trouble. And Harry subtly influencing one of them to spill the beans in order to take Dumbledore down as well, to get back as him for making a 'mockery' of them, was no one's business.

And now Armando Dippet, who had done nothing ever, from what Harry remembered of the man's page in Hogwarts: A History, was finally taking action.

So Dumbledore was no longer Deputy.

"I am instating Mr. Potter as Deputy Head effectively immediately," was Dippet's next statement, making Harry go a bit rigid in shock. "I talked it over with the Board of Governors and the other Heads of House and they agreed with me that this is for the best. If your foul attitude persists, you will be removed from your position here entirely."

And now Harry Potter was the Deputy Headmaster of Hogwarts.

Dumbledore obviously didn't approve but was unable to do the old grandfatherly thing he'd pulled on Fudge. "Mr. Potter is only twenty-two. He couldn't possibly be capable of handling the duties required of a Deputy. And the Head of his family must be contacted first before making any sort of decisions in involving him in political positions."

Being the Deputy Head was political? Since when?

"I spoke with Charmont Potter already and he felt that it was a brilliant idea, Albus. You have nothing that can change our minds."

And that was that.

Also, Harry needed to Floo Charmont because he hadn't spoken to the man in months and he should probably get to that if he didn't want his wife Ella coming to reprimand him. They'd been so kind to accept him into their family despite not really knowing him or his background, so it was only right. They took in a lost Potter, so Harry would play the helpful nephew when needed.

"Come Monday morning, the school will be notified and you will be on probation from taking or giving points until we can determine if your attitude has turned all the way around."

Harry Potter was now the Deputy Headmaster, five years before Armando Dippet was said to retire and pass on the position of Head to his Deputy.

Well then.

The seventh years stood before him, all looking interested and confused. He could understand though, since he was accompanied by a special guest that he literally had to jump through hoops just to interact with. And by that, he meant competition.

In order to speak with Filius Flitwick in person, Harry had to actually sign up for the annual International Dueling Championship. As per rules of the competition, his community's highest ranking Dueling Master would be sent to evaluate him and determine if he was skilled enough to enter the competition. If he was, then he would compete in many duels for the right to a Dueling Mastery. Which would look pretty on any registration or resume he filled out thenceforth.

Harry didn't really care for the competition, but meeting his old professor who wouldn't even know him, seemed like a great idea. Because Professor Flitwick had been a Dueling Master and was considered one of the best in the world. It was a high honour considering he was part Goblin and Magical Britain wasn't too kind to magical creatures and beings that weren't human.

So when he'd been contacted by the soon-to-be-professor to set up a date for his trial, he'd asked if it was okay for it to take place at Hogwarts. Specifically, during his first Dueling Club meeting with the seventh year students. And Flitwick had liked the idea and agreed to show up. Which was why his presence must have confused many people.

"So you've all decided that you want to do some extra work. Whether it be because you are genuinely interested in furthering your skills and knowledge, or because you're testing the waters for personal reasons, I thank you all for coming."

Harry had sectioned off the Great Hall for these instances and had everything set up as they should be. Straw dummies lined up on the far wall for practice, a snack table the House Elves had set up because they were dears. And one side of the room was separated by floating walls for one on one dueling. The walls were enchanted to halt any spells and to stop them from going any further than the particular confined space.

"This is Filius Flitwick," said Harry, gesturing to the half-Goblin. "He is currently Britain's highest ranking Dueling Master and he is here to test me for the upcoming International Dueling Championship. I figured that giving you all a demonstration of a real duel would be good, and he thankfully agreed."

Flitwick smiled and waved at the gathered teenagers. "I'm so happy to know that Hogwarts has started up a Dueling Club! I have a feeling you will learn very much from Mr. Potter, here! So make sure you listen to his advice."

"Thank you, sir. Shall we duel?"

They took up their positions on opposite sides of the room. A silvery bubble appeared around them thanks to Flitwick. And it was definitely Flitwick since Harry hadn't done anything. Already, he was sort of regretting this, but decided that it was best to go out with a bang. The students weren't in danger and he was up against a Champion Duelist.

Both took the proper stance and bowed low to each other, before curses were flying. Everything was silent except for the sounds of spells flying into the barrier. Purples and yellows spiraling in random directions and they deflected one another's attacks.

Harry was good at nonverbal magic. He'd built up the skill by necessity when he'd briefly served as an Auror and had to work to bring in the remaining Death Eaters still lying low after Voldemort's defeat. When in hot pursuit of someone, silently casting at them saved you from having to think further ahead. If they didn't know what was about to happen, you retained the upper hand. A common piece of knowledge.

Unfortunately for the young Defence professor, Flitwick was wasn't even old yet and still had mahogany hair and much less wrinkles than Harry was used to. Meaning he was capable of a lot more now than he was in Harry's earlier years.

Flitwick was capable of silently performing magic with his wand in one hand, while performing a completely different branch of magic, without his wand and without speaking, using only his free hand. It was incredible, to see not only the dark coloured curse flying at his face from one direction, but to also see out of his peripherals, a stone statue getting ready to flatten him.

So what to do?

Harry dove forward, slipping under the statue that ended up crashing to the floor and falling into pieces of rubble. He blocked the curse with one flick, and sent his Patronus at the half-Goblin.

The serpent flowed forward at a deadly speed, pushing straight through three consecutively cast spells and knocking the small being over in the process. Harry was on his feet once more, summoning the other's wand in hopes of evening the playing field.

Flitwick, as stated earlier, did not need a wand, and wasn't in any way concerned when it was taken from him. Unlike with Harry's students, the duel wasn't suddenly over just because the opponent lost their wand. The duel had only just begun, and Harry could only hope that he didn't lose grip of his own wand.

"Impressive, Mr. Potter!" crowed Flitwick, sounding as excited as he looked.

The two were eying one another up, trying to determine where they should strike first. Flitwick was lower to the ground so anything grandiose probably wouldn't be smart to use against him. It would take subtle plotting if he wanted to catch the other.

"You as well, sir."

A twinkle entered the half-Goblin's blue eyes. "Then shall we make things a little more interesting for our audience?"

"I think that is a smashing idea, sir."

Something was cast on the stone floor, covering it in a green substance that did not vanish when Harry tried to magic it away. And the substance was actually growing in size, covering the area quickly and making Harry wince, knowing instinctively that he didn't want to be touched by whatever it was.

He summoned his broom. Since Flitwick held control over the ground, Harry was going to have to take his part of the duel to the air. Thankfully, the Great Hall was vast in size and could allow for someone to fly a broom without struggle. Unfortunately, this also put Harry at a bit of a disadvantage because this meant he had to pay attention to not only his spell output, but flying in general.

And the half-Goblin did in no way blink when Harry jumped on the summoned broom. He merely started levitating shattered pieces of the statue he had used earlier, and charmed them to follow Harry around like Bludgers. In retaliation, Harry used his now advanced speed(though not too advanced since it was a 1940s broomstick) to trap Flitwick and also expose him to the affects of his own magic.

With large pieces of stone flying after Harry and Harry flying too close to the half-Goblin, it meant that he had to either evade or destroy the stones in order to avoid getting hit himself. And Harry held no compunction against flying close to the ground, so he brought the challenge willingly and laughed when his assailants were taken care of without him having to do it personally.

Harry distanced himself immediately, wanting to get a good view of his opponent. Of course, Flitwick was in no way finished, and sent a spell straight upward, which started a snowfall. A. Very. Heavy. Snowfall. And in doing so, proceeded to disrupt Harry's vision. Though it wasn't just Harry who would be affected, so it was a sort of a high risk action to take in the long run.

With a mental nod toward Hermione for teaching him, Harry spelled everything on him to be repellent to anything wet, putting him back on even footing with his old professor and clearing his glasses off.

At least, he thought he'd been. When the broom suddenly jerked under him and went flying off without him, Harry cursed to himself and barely managed to slow his descent to the stone floor in time to save his face from any damage.

Of course Arresto Momentum did not stop you from hitting the ground, it merely slowed you down enough to not get hurt. Harry still landed, and what had been on the floor that he was avoiding? The green goop that Flitwick had summoned.

The moment he touched it, he found himself cocooned unwillingly, and swore as quietly as he could manage. He should have placed an anti-summoning charm on the broom, but hadn't thought it would be necessary. If it had been summoned, he assumed he would go with it and had fast enough reflexes to respond if necessary. It just went to show that assumptions were dangerous.

The duel was over, with Flitwick clapping almost hysterically. "Mr. Potter, I haven't had such a good time in a duel in almost a decade! You have a marvelous mind and the choice to use a broom was impressive. You don't think along conventional lines and I admire the innovative directions your mind took!"

It was a relief when the green stuff disappeared and Flitwick's snowfall and barrier went along with it, allowing the students to know that everything was officially finished. Said students who were staring at the two with wide eyes.

Getting to his feet, Harry made sure to bow low. "Thank you for taking me seriously. I know I'm not up to your level but it's nice to be treated equally, sir."

He got a jolly laugh in return as the other flitted on over as quickly as he could. "I am putting in my word for your participation in the Championship. It would be so interesting to see how you fair against duelists from all over the world. I do hope you win!"

They shook hands briefly, before Flitwick told the seventh years, "You have a professor with a good head on his shoulders. Do not write off anything he says. We need more minds like his out in the world. And always work smart. Hard work is impressive, but can also wear you down. Working smart saves you energy and time."

Once Flitwick had departed, Harry focused on the club members. "Shall we? Ravenclaws and Gryffindors, make sure you come back for your personal lessons at ten-thirty."

After the initial introduction that had taken almost half an hour shockingly, Harry had them line up in groups of five. One line for each practice dummy against the far wall. So seven lines in total.

Each student had three chances to cast the spell correctly and hit the target. If they failed, they moved to the back of the line so the next person could go. And Harry hadn't done the whole revision of everything they had to relearn every year since their first day inside Hogwarts. Harry actually started with spells often taught in sixth year Defence, Transfiguration, and Charms. Things they might not have as well mastered as those that came earlier.

And they had gotten through nine different spells before Harry demanded to see the Patronus Charm.

It was then that he'd been amazed. Some students were capable of a mist. Some mists were much stronger than others.

"Ms. Moran, please inform the class of what a Patronus is and the best method used in summoning one."

Melissa Moran, a bubbly Hufflepuff with red curls, gave him the textbook answer that he of course expected. He nodded to show that she wasn't necessarily wrong, but then turned his attention upon Tom whom he hadn't really spent time on because Tom had obviously mastered all of his spells.

"Mr. Riddle, we have discussed this previously. Why is using a memory not a smart move?"

Tom drew himself up subtly. Importantly. "Wracking your brain for a memory when you are facing a Dementor or a Lethifold, wastes valuable time. There is also a case for some people being without good memories, or memories strong enough to power a Patronus that is strong enough to take corporeal form. Therefore, your advice was to use a happy thought. Something that makes you happy, would still be good enough because a Patronus is fueled by joy and does not specifically need only one type of joy."

"Correct. For those curious, Mr. Riddle came to me for advice." He then turned back to Tom. "Have you been practicing?"

And without even answering, Tom turned to the dummy and intoned, "Expecto Patronum."

A snake. The silvery mist coiled into the shape of a snake the calmly floated in the air, to circle the dummy once and return to the teen, curling around Tom's shoulders. Tom Riddle, the young man that had gone on to become Lord Voldemort in Harry's world, had managed to cast a Patronus.

Even with four official murders and one unofficial murder under his belt, Tom was not considered evil. If a truly evil being attempted to cast a Patronus, they would be eaten alive by maggots. It was magic's personal reprimand for the actions said magical had taken.

Tom was not considered an evil person by magic's standards. Why? The murder of an innocent was supposed to be the most horrible action to take. Tom had murdered the Riddles and then some woman. Harry was very confused and wondered what exactly had happened for them not to be considered evil actions.

Dumbledore had never known the details of what exactly happened and simply went with his own assumptions as if they were truth. But this was another world. This wasn't exactly the same Tom Riddle Harry had met when he was much younger. This was an entirely new world, mostly because time-travel was fickle and dangerous and the last person to travel back more than a day well and truly fucked up a lot and Harry's team had to be sent in to stop it before it happened. It was hell and he hated it, but that was a story for another time.

Dimension hopping was easier in the long run than time-travel, plain and simple.

Tom Riddle wasn't evil. Tom could cast a Patronus. This Tom was vastly different even with just a few months of changes. Harry hadn't done much and yet big things were changing anyway.

It was amazing.

He awarded Tom points for the first time. Fifty because he was so impressed.

And Tom's winning smile made Harry feel a lot happier than it should. But his student had accomplished something that most still struggled with into adulthood. Of course Harry would be really pleased.

The warm feeling in his gut was happiness, right?

"Mort, what exactly is it that makes Tom not evil?" asked Harry later that evening as he read through the paperwork that came with being the Deputy Head of a school. He had to familiarise himself with rules and regulations and what sort of power he had in his new position.

And it was a lot. So of course Mortimer(Death) was there to keep him company and make things less dull. Or rather, to talk his ear off about inconsequential matters until Harry finally thought up something interesting to talk about.

"I think Tom should tell you personally since you might understand his reasoning better. But I can tell you that the Riddles were not innocent. No, they did not deserve to be assaulted by Marvolo and Morfin constantly, nor did Tom Sr. deserve to be bewitched and raped, but they were also nothing pure and sacred. Neither was the woman used for the Ring Horcrux. She had a long time connection to the Riddles and it wasn't in any way pleasant. I personally applaud the boy's actions against them."

"You're Death, though. You like killing and murder and unfortunate ends," Harry pointed out, intrigued by the fact that the Riddles and the woman weren't 'innocent'. Hadn't Tom used their 'innocent' murders to make another Horcrux? Didn't Horcruxes need to be made by murdering innocents? Otherwise they wouldn't be considered the most disgusting creations to exist. "Fine. I'll find out eventually. With the way things are going, it probably wouldn't take long. Though I don't want to just rudely ask." He wasn't that uncouth.

"You'll find out more than you think when you do, believe me."

"Hm?"

Mortimer said nothing. And Harry was left wondering about the ways in which a Horcrux was properly made, and wondering if Tom, who admitted to not personally ordering Myrtle's death, had actually done the ritual correctly his first few times. Or did he somehow make a mistake?

A/N: Tom used a muggle ‘tramp’ to make his Ring a Horcrux. Her lacking any innocence has nothing to do with being a ‘tramp’. No, this goes deeper. And the Riddles aren’t super great either.

#Strive #Tomarry #fanfiction #Watermelonsmellinfellon

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