Indelible

Hey all, I know I wasn’t going to update… But you deserved it.
I was going to do The Lambs, but I’m not in the mood for Fenrir.

Bear in mind, if someone you loved was dating your twin, and your twin died, do you think they would want to see you? No – and that is why Voldemort didn’t follow Harry to Riddle Manor.

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Words: 3,397
Chapter 14
Aftermath
January 10th 1996.

The Hogwarts Express had turned out to be a fairly pleasant journey back to Hogwarts that morning. It was sunny outside, and most of the train’s occupants spent their time looking out of the window or talking quietly about their holidays. A handful of students were more solemn. They didn’t speak at all.

With a deep breath, Harry pushed open the doors of the great hall and walked inside. He was alone, like he always was when it counted. Everyone always left him. Draco was already sitting at the Slytherin table, and Harry smiled faintly as he caught sight of Tom sitting beside the blond. He headed over towards them, a huge grin appearing on his face. A persistent coughing from the other side of the room caught his attention and he looked over with a frown. Ron and Ginny were sitting at the Gryffindor table glaring at him. Hermione waved him over and he went. He sat down when Ron grabbed his sleeve. Harry was feeling rather confused.

“Why am I here?”

“You belong here.” Ginny told him, her arm looping around his waist.

When he looked down, he realized she was right. He was a Gryffindor, the red and gold tie around his neck said as much. He looked over at the Slytherin table again but Draco was sneering at him, and Tom was gone. With a confused frown Harry looked around for his boyfriend.

Something came out of the table directly in front of him. With a shriek, Harry jumped away from the table. Landing on the floor, his eyes wide, he stared at the ghost that was now sitting in his seat. “Sit down, Harry!” Ron said, his mouth full.

“Where?” Harry looked to the left of the ghost and to the right, but there was nowhere else to sit.

“Here, my good lord. What is’t that moves your highness?” Hermione pointed at the ghost. She couldn’t see it, to her, that seat was free.

Harry jumped to his feet; his hand trembled as he pointed at the ghost of Tom Riddle. “Which of you have done this?” Ginny and Ron started to laugh. Their heads were thrown back, and Tom laughed with them. As Tom laughed, his throat split open, and blood gushed forward from the wound. A river of blood ran down his robes and Harry shuddered, still shaking. “Thou canst not say I did it: never shake thy gory locks at me.”

Albus stood up. He smirked, eyes narrowed with malice as he spoke. “Gentlemen, rise; his highness is not well.” 1 Tom was the only one who stood up. He moved from Harry’s seat, slowly walking towards his lover. His hands reached out to grip the trembling boy’s shoulders. Their faces met, Tom’s lips crushed to his, and Harry could only think of how Tom tasted of ashes. It burnt his mouth.

At the head table, Albus smirked. “Ashes to ashes,” he whispered as Tom turned to dust. Harry reached out for him with a cry, but only grabbed air. A fine sprinkling of dust floated down around his head, and stuck to the tears on his cheeks.

He woke, panting and sweating, his hands held out in front of him and his fists clenched. With a choked sob, he let them drop down at his sides. He sat, still, for a few minutes before sliding from the bed. He winced as his bare feet hit the cold floor, but he didn’t put on socks or slippers. He needed the cold – the extreme feeling; he needed to know he was alive, because ever since Tom died Harry had trouble breathing. His lungs kept tightening whenever someone mentioned the other boy’s name, and his throat closed up if he was asked to speak about it.

The only person he could bring himself to talk to was Draco. And now Draco was back at Hogwarts. Harry cast ‘tempus’ and frowned; lunch would be served around now in the great hall, he supposed.

He considered eating, but he really wasn’t hungry. So he turned away from the bedroom door, and got back into bed. He didn’t sleep, he was afraid to sleep. So he just lay there, staring at the ceiling. If he closed his eyes, in the dark, and breathed loudly, he could almost pretend Tom was lying beside him, breathing with him. He didn’t open his eyes again until Sirius came to check on him three hours later.

“You’ve been in here all day, Harry.” Harry opened one eye. Seeing it was Sirius, and not Tom like he had hoped, Harry rolled over and closed his eyes again. Sirius frowned at Harry’s back and stood with a sigh. “Ok. I’ll see you later then.” Harry didn’t reply as Sirius left.

Sirius sighed, running his fingers through his hair as he walked into the parlor. The elder Malfoys, Voldemort and Remus were waiting for him. Remus held out a cup of tea, and smiled softly. “Harry isn’t doing well, Moony.” He said quietly. Remus wasn’t needed back at Hogwarts until the next day, which was the first day of classes.

The werewolf reached out to squeeze his lover’s arm. Sirius sipped at his tea, and noticed with faint amusement that Voldemort’s eyes never left the door he had entered by. If Sirius were to guess, he would say that Voldemort wanted nothing more than to go to Harry, to see Harry for his self. The animagus couldn’t blame the Dark Lord; Harry had a habit of making people care for him. Draco hadn’t allowed anyone near Harry more than necessary since they had come back from Riddle Manor two days after Tom’s death. Lucius had seen Harry twice, and along with Remus had tried to coax what had happened out of the still hysterical boy. Each time, Draco had insisted they leave. Sirius has seen Harry a total of three times, including a few minutes ago, since Christmas Day. Two weeks had passed, and Harry was still as distraught as ever.

Now, they were without Draco, which meant that Harry wouldn’t speak to anyone.

Remus frowned, rubbing at his eyes. “Poor cub,” he whispered and Sirius hung his head slightly.

“He’s a strong boy, he’ll be ok,” Narcissa said softly.

“He hasn’t eaten for three days!” Lucius hissed, “and even then Draco had to pin him down and force feed him soup.”

“He’ll be fine,” Voldemort spoke, finally turning his eyes away from the door. His gaze traveled over each person in the room, and obviously found them lacking because he turned back to stare at the door. A part of him hoped Harry would walk through it.

“He’s survived worse.” Narcissa said, talking about Azkaban.

“He is surviving, this,” Voldemort added, not looking at her. She fell silent, pensive. They all continued to drink their tea, each of them waiting for Harry to walk into the room. A letter from Draco arrived at 10pm, and they listened while Lucius read it out loud. When Harry didn’t appear by midnight, Remus flooed to Hogwarts.

Voldemort spent most of the early morning standing outside of Harry’s bedroom door. His hand was poised to knock, but he couldn’t quite bring himself to do so. He wasn’t sure he was willing to find out if Harry had ever truly liked him, or if Harry just viewed him as another part of Tom. He honestly did love Harry, and he wanted Harry to love him in return, but even he wasn’t desperate enough to settle for being Tom’s substitute.

At around 4am, he went to bed. As he disappeared around the corridor, the bedroom door opened and Harry poked his head outside. He looked rather confused, but he looked around and saw no one, so he went back inside. He was sure he could feel Tom outside. “Maybe I’m going crazy,” he whispered to the empty room.

He stood in front of the mirror, brushing his fringe back with his hand. “Maybe you already are,” the reflection said snidely. Harry squinted, ignoring the words. If he looked at the reflection sideways, and ignored the scar, he could almost believe he was talking to Tom and not himself.

“I miss you.” He breathed.

“You miss your sanity,” the mirror returned and Harry frowned as the moment was ruined. He went back to bed, reluctantly closing his eyes and allowing himself to fall asleep again.

That night, he dreamt he was flying to Hogwarts with Ron, in Mr. Weasley’s old Ford car. As they crashed into the Whomping willow, Harry didn’t scream this time. Instead, he leant out of the window, trying to get a better look at something he had just glimpsed. Ron didn’t notice; he was too busy shrieking and flailing, trying to avoid the dangerous branches.

Harry opened the door, and climbed out of the car. He landed on the ground, on his feet. He hardly noticed when the branches hit him, but didn’t hurt him. His eyes were riveted on something. He wasn’t sure what it was, but it was hanging from the only branch that didn’t move. Three crows hovered around the top of whatever it was – was it a person? Harry thought suddenly.

The crows’ beaks were stained red, and whatever was hanging there was wrapped in a black robe. Harry’s hand reached out, grabbing at the black fabric. As he tugged, it fell away, dropping on top of Harry. He struggled free, frowning down at the large black curtain that lay at his feet. “What is that?” He asked, bending down to touch the veil. It began to sway, lying on the floor it ululated from side to side but Harry ignored it. Something else had caught his attention.

The person hanging from that tree was wearing Slytherin robes.

Harry gasped. The noise startled the crows, and they flew off, leaving the person’s face visible. Harry felt a scream bubbling in his throat as he stared at Tom Riddle. The boy’s face was almost transparent and his lips were blue. Where his eyes should have been, were only large bloody holes. His mouth opened, startling Harry, who stopped screaming.

“You son of a bitch,” he whispered. Harry thought Tom would have been glaring, if the crows hadn’t pecked out his eyes.

Tom fell still again, as the crows flew back to him, perching on his head and shoulders and began to eat at his face. Harry tried not to scream again, but he couldn’t help it. He hoped the crows would fly away and leave Tom in peace but they didn’t. Instead they flew at him. He shrieked, his hands waving in front of his face as he tried to fight off the crows. They pecked at his eyes, and he could feel blood dripping down his face.

When he woke, he was hysterical. Sirius found him, and rocked him back and forth softly as Harry begged him to wipe the blood off of his face. When Harry had calmed down, he realized it wasn’t blood on his cheeks – but tears.

XXX

January 12th 1996. (Tuesday)

Draco was sitting with some of his friends, eagerly awaiting the end of his History of Magic class when the door opened and a nervous looking third year walked in. Professor Binns looked up with a sigh. The ghostly professor beckoned the boy over and took the note from the child’s hand. “Mr. Malfoy. The sooner you go to the Headmaster, the sooner the class can get back to learning about goblin wars.” There was a collective groan from the group.

Draco hurriedly grabbed his things, and followed the third year from the room. It was a Hufflepuff, Draco notice and he snickered. The boy flinched slightly. “What does he want?”

“He d-didn’t say, sorry.” The Hufflepuff answered and took off in the other direction.

When Draco arrived at the bottom of the spiraling staircase, he frowned. He hadn’t been given the password, and he refused to make an imbecile of himself, so he remained silent and engaged in a staring contest with the stone gargoyle. Eventually the gargoyle consented, and jumped aside. Draco made his way up to the office, feeling rather smug.

“Sir,” he greeted politely, sitting down. What he really wanted to do was ring the old man’s neck, or feed him to a Preying Tentacular plant.

“Ah, Draco, good of you to come so soon.”

“Professor Binns couldn’t wait to get rid of me.” He drawled, looking completely at home in the other man’s office.

“Now, what I wish to speak to you about should be plainly obvious.” Draco just rolled his eyes slightly, one of his eyebrows climbing higher on his forehead. “Now, now,” Dumbledore chided. “Do you mean to say you had no idea that Dorian Grey was really Harry Potter?”

“No.” Draco hissed. “Not until I went to rescue my fiancé, and realized I was hugging Scar-Head.” He grimaced, looking remarkably disgusted by what had happened. Secretly, he was thinking about Filch naked. He was likely scarred for life.

“Really, now?” He hummed. “That is interesting. So, do you believe Marvolo knew the identity of his son?” Albus steepled his fingers beneath his chin and smiled at Draco.

“He hadn’t a notion. Whatever potion Potter was using wore off after whatever you did to him. Father informs me Marvolo was outraged. I’m sure, if Emily Grey wasn’t dead, he’d kill her himself.”

“Why do you say that?” Albus asked curiously.

Draco repeated what Voldemort had told him to say. “As far as Sirius Black knew, Dorian was Emily’s son; same as Marvolo. In fact, it is believed that Emily cast a wide spread memory charm so everyone would believe Harry was hers, so Marvolo could ‘protect him’. Apparently she owed the Potter’s a life debt.” Draco lifted one shoulder into an uninterested shrug.

“I see.” Albus drawled. “Well, onto another matter of business. As you are no longer affianced, you no longer have permission to reside in your private dorm. You will move back to Slytherin as soon as possible.”

Draco looked horrified for a moment, before he schooled his features into a blank mask. Well, he hadn’t exactly wanted to keep sleeping on a sofa all year, and he didn’t want to sleep in Harry and Tom’s bed either. So it was probably for the best, he decided. That didn’t mean he was happy about this though; a Malfoy was never denied anything!

“What about Professor Lupin?” He asked, trying to look unconcerned.

“As a guardian, Remus will be allowed to retain possession of those rooms for the year. Unfortunately, you no longer are in need of a guardian. I’m afraid Remus may no longer stay on at Hogwarts. I’ve spoken to him earlier this morning about everything and he understands fully.” Albus smiled and Draco allowed his lip to twitch slightly. He might as well as attempt to act polite. “You may leave.”

That evening Draco waved goodbye to Thetis as the last of his possessions disappeared from the room. The house elves quickly unpacked everything in his old dorm. A quick hug from Remus later, and he turned, with his chin held high and made his way to the dungeons. Albus watched him, a calculating look in his eyes as he glanced between Draco and Remus and the portrait.

Thetis was glaring at him, looking like Voldemort, for the second time ever, her eyes glowing red. She pulled the hood of her black cape over her head, hiding her face in shadows. The she donned a white mask, which looked remarkably like a skull. A smirk was visible on her face, the lower half exposed by the mask. Albus narrowed his eyes at her, but she refused to change back. He glared at Remus instead.

“Dorian never did like that portrait,” he said softly, emphasizing ‘Dorian’. His fists were clenched at his side, but Albus never noticed. He flooed to Malfoy Manor ten minutes later.

XXX

January 18th 1996. (Monday)

Defense Against the Dark Arts used to be one of Hermione’s favourite subjects. This year, she rather thought they could do without it. Delores Umbridge despised the use of a wand in the classroom, and insisted that they spend the entire year only (the OWLs year, no less) reading a seriously biased and outdated textbook. Hermione had read the whole thing in one double lesson, and then got detention for ‘reading too fast’ apparently.

It was unbelievable. And if it wasn’t bad enough before, now she was being partnered with Draco Malfoy for the whole year.

The blond sneered at her when she caught his eyes. With a put upon sigh she stood, and left her seat. Hesitantly sliding into the empty chair beside Draco she frowned. “Is Dorian ok?” She mumbled. No one had told her what had happened.

“Tom’s dead.” Draco ignored her for the rest of the lesson. He seemed focused on listening to Umbridge speak.

Hermione’s mind was awhirl with thought. Yes, Tom had killed Ginny. But Harry had loved Tom, and Tom had taken care of Harry for two years in Azkaban. She felt tears well in her eyes, a soft sob escaping her throat.

“Parkinson, Finnegan, you will research the uses of Dementors by the Ministry.” Umbridge only had one couple left to assign a topic to. She caught Hermione’s eyes as she opened her mouth again. More specifically, she noticed the tears. “Now, Granger, don’t cry.” She simpered, and Hermione felt her temper rising. “I saved something good for you.” Her eyes were looking at Draco though. “The Headmaster thought you’d like to research possession, and the benefits of killing the possessing spirit.” Hermione gasped.

She looked over at Draco, hoping to catch his reaction, but he didn’t so much as blink. When they left the room, Hermione watched as Blaise squeezed Draco’s shoulder while Pansy looked on. “Are you ok?” The blond girl asked. Obviously, the Muggleborn realized, these two Slytherins knew about Harry being possessed by Tom. Hermione waited for Draco’s answer. Instead of speaking, he turned and punched the wall. A loud crack echoed down the hallway, and Hermione winced. Draco cradled his hand, the knuckles were likely broken, but he refused to go to the hospital wing. Instead he headed to the dungeons.

“I have been informed,” Severus drawled as Draco entered his private rooms, “that you were engaged to Harry Potter.” Draco just raised his chin higher, refusing to incriminate himself. “I will not breath a word of this to the Headmaster, Draco. I care for you. Let me help you.”

“Harry needs help, not me.” Draco said softly. Severus winced slightly, and Draco realized that he had given enough of an answer for Severus to realize Albus had told him the truth. “We weren’t really engaged. The Dark Lord was jealous of the attention Harry kept receiving, so he told people Harry was engaged to me so they wouldn’t try to court Harry.” Severus nodded, before freezing.

“The Dark Lord was,” he seemed unable to say it, “jealous?”

Draco laughed softly. “Crazy world, huh?”

“Apparently.”

XXX

January 18th 1996. That night.

There was a thunderstorm happening outside on the night Voldemort finally worked up the courage to enter Harry’s room. The child was asleep, fortunately. Voldemort walked nearer to the bed, hovering just at its edge. His hand snaked forward, pushing back Harry’s fringe. His red eyes lingered on the scar for a second, before he leant forward. He pressed his lips to the scar, resting in that position for a minute. As he stood there, his lips pressed to Harry’s forehead, the boy’s green eyes snapped open.

“You’re alive?” He thought. All he could make out was a dark clothed shape.

Voldemort pulled back, and Harry’s eyes squeezed closed again. The Dark Lord carded his fingers through Harry’s hair, a soft smile on his face.

“I love you, my Harry.” He whispered, barely loud enough to hear. But Harry heard him. Tom was already at the door when Harry answered him. The boy kept his eyes closed, just in case he was disappointed.

Voldemort froze as Harry spoke. The one word Harry had said was ringing in his ear, but Voldemort couldn’t bring himself to answer. So he left the room—

“Tom?”

—And Harry didn’t follow him.

XXX


1 – the whole of that scene (from Ron telling Harry to sit, until till Dumbledore speaking) was taken from Macbeth, Act 3, and Scene IV. Macbeth’s guilt at killing Banquo begins to drive him insane, (i.e. Harry blames himself for Tom’s death).

XXX

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Thanks. Please review. I have to get a plane tomorrow; I hate airports. But I love Regina Spektor – The Call. The Narnia soundtrack rocks.

Tom bought a wand in chapter 8 – but I didn’t say what kind. Its yew, with a core of ground Thestral bones. Voldemort’s is yew and phoenix feather, and Harry’s has been snapped. Fenrir and the Werewolves arrive at Malfoy Manor in chapter 15.