Memory\'s Ghost

Harry made himself wait two days before going back down to the Chamber, and when he finally did arrive, Tom was nowhere to be found. He called out the ghost’s name a couple of times, but there was no answer, no sign of Tom anywhere. If Harry were to be truly honest with himself, he’d admit that he was relieved.

Harry didn’t know what to think of Tom. The last thing he wanted was another of Voldemort’s incarnations haunting his life, but Tom wasn’t like the others. Of course, this didn’t mean Harry trusted him.

If he was even real.

Harry gave another cursory glance around the Chamber.

Had he imagined the entire thing? Was it all a dream?

Odd dream, if that’s what it was, but at least it meant he’d never see Tom again.

Sitting down on his pile of cushions, he got out his Potions notes and a fresh piece of parchment. Dipping his quill in the ink, he prepared to start on the paper that was part of his detention--two sheets on the magical properties of athelas--but the words wouldn’t come.

Nothing new there.

He stared at the blank paper, willing himself to write, and wondering why he should bother. True, if he didn’t, Snape would probably take points away, find more work for him, give him low marks, push him down a deep well, make him darn a pile of unwashed socks, whatever horrible deed he happened to have handy. Which was fine. Snape could do anything he wanted because, quite frankly, Harry really couldn’t find it in him to care anymore. It was his last year at Hogwarts. If he passed the NEWTs with flying colors, would all of this even matter? Sure, he’d have to work to get those flying colors, but if he did, why cause himself a world of stress over all this little stuff that would have no effect on his life overall? It just didn’t seem worth it.

Therefore, problem solved, he decided, putting aside the parchment and ink. There was a twinge of guilt in the back of his mind, a tiny bit of conscience that told him he was being irresponsible and that he knew he should do the work, but beyond that tiny bit of conscience, he simply felt relieved.

So now what?

Harry stood up and, digging into the pockets of his robe, he pulled out three beanbag balls. With a large grin, he began tossing the balls in the air and between his hands, focusing on making sure none of the balls hit the ground. He’d picked up juggling that summer to give him something to do that would keep him entertained, as well as irritate the Dursleys--his aunt and uncle were terrified he’d miss and end up knocking something over.

He almost never missed.

Almost.

With an evil snicker, he pretended to lose his grip on a ball and knocked over the imaginary target of one of his aunt’s vases.

“Oops,” he said innocently as he retrieved the ball and began juggling again, trying to put his hated family out of his mind.

Family. Distant family. Related by blood only, certainly not by the bonds that normally make up a family--love, affection, support. No, the Dursleys were family only by the broadest of definitions. At least he never had to see them again. Now that he was seventeen and Voldemort was dead, he was finally free of their abuse, and if they dropped off the face of the Earth, he doubted he’d find it in his heart to care.

His mind filled with these unhappy thoughts, slowly, Harry became aware of a voice behind him.

“I wonder what it is you think of when you get that expression on your face. I’ve seen it so many times, but I’ve never been able to ask you. It looks like I won’t be able to ask you now, either. You look so sad, so hurt, and so very angry.”

Harry let the balls fall to the ground and whirled around to see Tom sitting on the pile of cushions, rambling aimlessly as he stared at his hands.

“How long have you been sitting there?”

Tom’s head shot up, his eyes widening. “Harry! You can see me!”

“Of course I can.”

“But you couldn’t, not before.”

“What do you mean?” Harry frowned, kneeling down next to him.

“I’ve been here ever since you arrived, but you couldn’t see me or hear me. I tried talking to you, and it was terrible. I was afraid things had gone back to the way they were and that I’d be alone again.”

“You’re not alone,” he said softly, suddenly wishing he could give the young man a hug and bring a little light back to the blue eyes, but it seemed his words were enough, for Tom’s face brightened immediately.

“I feel stronger when you’re around. Maybe that’s why you couldn’t see me at first, because you’ve been gone.”

At that, Harry felt another twinge of conscience. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be gone so long.”

“You don’t need to apologize,” Tom smiled. “I know you have your own life.”

No, he did need to apologize, since he’d been avoiding the ghost and didn’t have any real excuse for staying away.

“I know I do,” he said, settling down onto the cushions. “But when I made that promise to you, you became part of my life.”

The resulting look in Tom’s eyes melted his heart, and the fact that the young man was naked again stirred other parts of his body as well.

“Um. . . Tom? Clothes?”

The ghost blushed again and instantly clothes appeared on his body. “Sorry. I had them on when you came, but when you couldn’t see me, it took too much energy for me to keep them.”

“It’s all right,” Harry smiled. “If I had a place to myself, I probably wouldn’t bother getting dressed either. Just means I’d have to wash them all sooner.”

The ghost chuckled, and Harry’s smile turned into a grin. He liked that he was able to make Tom laugh. Hardly anyone laughed these days, and he’d grown to miss the sound. His friends were all too stressed out over schoolwork or trying to figure out what to do after graduation--something else Harry avoided thinking about. So far, the list of thoughts to be avoided consisted of homework, Snape, the Malfoys, detention, graduation, tests, his family, and pretty much his entire life outside the Chamber of Secrets.

But at least he had a new escape, and someone he could escape with.



“What is it you do in here all day?” Harry asked.

It had been three weeks since Tom had first appeared, and so far, the ghost. . . thing. . . whatever had proved to be a fairly good undead companion. He’d quiz Harry over his notes, provide a soundboard for Harry’s thoughts on the future, wake him up in time for dinner if he fell asleep, but mostly, they’d just spend their time together talking. Tom had seemed so content with that, it took Harry a while to wonder what the young man did when he wasn’t around.

Tom looked at their gloomy surroundings and gave a little shrug. “I’m not really sure. Things. . . time. . . tends to blur. It’s been better, though, since you started coming down here. And worse.”

“What do you mean?”

“When you’re here, it’s not so bad. I feel--everything feels--a little more solid. When you’re gone, though, it’s darker, and quieter, and I can’t help feeling. . . lost, as if I’m something someone left behind, and forgotten. I used to go outside and walk around a bit, but to hear and see others without being heard or seen myself, it was too frustrating, and it became easier to stay down here.”

“But you can go outside?” Harry asked, green eyes widening, and Tom nodded. “Well, why didn’t you say so? Come on!”

Harry stood up and his hand automatically reached to help Tom to his feet, but the ghost just gave him a bashful smile and rose on his own. Harry immediately felt like a fool--of course Tom hadn’t accepted his help. Tom’s hand would have gone right through his.

“I’m sorry,” he said, sliding his bag over his shoulder, and Tom shook his head.

“Don’t be. It doesn’t bother me. I’m just happy you’re here.”

The apparition gave Harry another of his heart-stopping smiles, and the young wizard felt a blush crawling up his cheeks. This ghost, or whatever it was, was having far too much of an effect on him. He needed to find a distraction, and fast.

“You know this place better than I do,” Harry said. “What’s the fastest way out of here?”

“Follow me,” Tom said, walking towards one of the tunnels, Harry right behind him.

Keeping one eye on the rocky terrain while trying to keep track of Tom, Harry realized there was something else that separated him from the other ghosts he knew--Tom didn’t float. He walked and climbed his way up towards the surface of what looked to be a fairly recent cave-in, just like Harry did.

“Have you ever tried floating?” he asked, and his guide looked back at him, his eyes confused.

“Floating? Why would I float?”

Harry shrugged. “Just trying to figure out what you are. If you’re a ghost, you’d be able to float.”

Chuckling, Tom shook his head and returned to concentrating on the climb. “No, Harry, I can’t float. I guess that means I’m not a ghost.”

“I guess so. What are you then?”

“I wish I knew, because if I knew, then maybe I wouldn’t be stuck like this.”

“How is it you can grip the rocks to climb up, but you can’t take hold of my hand?”

Tom frowned as he looked at Harry. “I don’t really know. When I’m doing stuff like this, I have to concentrate a little harder, or I know I’ll fall right through.”

They returned to climbing, their goal a spot of sunlight just ten more feet above them. Tom pulled himself up onto the ledge and Harry crawled next to him, collapsing on his back as he tried to catch his breath.

“Next time, warn me how high up we’re going.”

“I’ll try,” he grinned, resting back on his hands to watch Harry recover his strength.

They were in what looked to be a small cave, the entrance of which was barely large enough for either of them to crawl through. Harry had a feeling he’d end up leaving a bit of skin behind if he wasn’t careful.

“So,” Harry began, leaning up on one arm to get a better look at the un-ghost, his hair falling into his eyes. He pushed the black strands away from his face and tucked them behind his ear. He no longer wore his hair short, but had let it grow out, often tying it at the nape of his neck even if it meant revealing the lightning bolt scar on his forehead. That tiny little scar had more significance than ever, and yet less. He no longer felt a need to hide it, or hide from it.

His fingers absently brushing over his forehead, Harry returned his attention to Tom. “You can walk and climb and do everything else by concentrating. Doesn’t that mean you should be able to do other things if you concentrate?”

“Other things?” he asked, his voice puzzled.

“For example, you could take my hand without worrying about your hand going right through mine.”

The blue eyes grew troubled. “I suppose so. I’ve never actually been near enough to anyone to try.”

“You’re near me.”

“I know,” he said, the frown on his face deepening, “but what if it doesn’t work?”

Harry shrugged. “Then we’ll know it doesn’t work and assume that you can only touch inanimate objects.”

“That’s a very big assumption, Harry,” he said, but slowly reached out his hand, clearly afraid that this experiment would fail.

Raising the hand he wasn’t currently using as a headrest, Harry moved his fingertips towards Tom’s. “Are you concentrating?”

The ghost nodded, his fingers shaking as they neared Harry’s. Unable to take the suspense any longer, Harry rushed his hand forward and the second their fingertips met, they both jumped, snatching their hands away as if they’d been shocked.

“It worked!” Tom said, his face filling with joy.

“Give me your hand,” Harry said, and Tom reached for his hand, this time, his fingers going right through Harry’s.

“Sorry,” he said with a bashful smile. “I was so excited, I forgot to concentrate.”

“It’s all right. Try it again, and this time, concentrate.”

“Okay,” he nodded, lips pursing into a straight line as he focused on touching Harry’s hand.

It worked.

Their fingers intertwined and when their eyes met, both were beaming with the delight of their newfound discovery.

“I can feel you,” Harry whispered, and the young man nodded.

Tom ran his fingers down Harry’s palm, then over the back of Harry’s hand, the light, chilling touch sending shivers through the young wizard’s body.

“I don’t think I’ve ever touched another human being before,” Tom said softly, his voice filled with wonder. “You’re so warm. . . and smooth. . . except here.” He turned Harry’s palm so that it was facing up and almost caressed the calluses there he’d earned from all those hours spent playing Quidditch. “But I like feeling the difference. I like feeling.”

He looked up at Harry, his smile filled with adoration for the one who’d given him this opportunity, and the flush caused by Tom’s touches deepened to one of embarrassment.

Suddenly needing to look anywhere other than in those blue eyes, Harry looked down at their hands, at the long, elegant fingers that continued to stroke his skin. The ghost had such beautiful hands, perfectly designed for a lover’s embrace--or for wrapping around a man’s throat and squeezing the life out of him.

No matter how enchanted he became with this ghost, he couldn’t let himself forget that Tom Riddle was, in every incarnation, his enemy. This incarnation couldn’t possibly be any different--he was just better at hiding it.

Unless he wasn’t hiding anything.

Harry shook his head. He couldn’t let his guard down, no matter how convincing the ghost was.

Quickly withdrawing his hand, he sat up. “I think I’ve got my breath back now,” he said, though in truth, he felt even more breathless than before. “Let’s go see what the rest of the world is up to. Plus, I’m curious to know if anyone else can see you, or if I’m the only one.”

And if I’m the only one, he added to himself as they climbed through the hole into the sunny afternoon air, then we’re in trouble.

When they emerged, Harry looked around to get his bearings. From the pennants and banners flying to his right, he could tell the entrance to the Chamber was beyond the Quidditch field and from the way the hairs on the back of his neck were rising, he knew that if he looked to his left, he’d see that they were right on the edge of the Forbidden Forest.

Harry cautiously turned his head to the left and sighed. Yep, there it was--the Forbidden Forest, and directly behind them was a cliff leading straight down to the ocean. No wonder the Chamber had remained secret for so long. There was no reason for anyone to be anywhere near here, not to mention, who knew how long this hole had actually been around.

As they slowly made their way towards the school, Harry tried not to stare at the reminders around them of the all-too recent war. Smoke rose above the trees from the parts of the Forest that continued to smolder, though so far, no one had been able to locate the fires. The grass around them seemed lush and healthy, but patches of green just a little too bright gave away the signs of new growth covering up the scorch marks that had blackened the ground just a few months ago. None of the wizarding world had escaped unharmed, and parts of the Muggle world had its scars as well.

Even as he surveyed the damage, Harry’s hand absently moved to scratch the scar he’d received from the war, a wound that had nearly cost him his life. Though the shiny pink mark on his chest was an obvious reminder of how close he’d come to dying, Harry had done his best to forget about it. Only in his nightmares did the memory return to him, and even then, he pushed them away. Some things were meant to be forgotten.

Oblivious to Harry’s distraction, Tom was enjoying the sudden return of his senses. He lifted his face to the sun to feel the warmth on his skin. He spread his fingers wide as the wind passed over his hand. Reaching down, he picked a sprig of clover and pressed it between his fingers, then smelled in the fresh, green scent.

“It has to be you, Harry,” he said, taking a deep breath. “I don’t remember being able to smell anything before, and I certainly don’t remember being able to feel. I wonder if I can also taste.”

“I don’t know that ghosts can taste,” Harry said, then started as Tom grabbed his right hand. Bending back all his fingers but his forefinger, Tom placed it in his mouth, blue eyes locked onto Harry’s green. As the soft moist heat surrounded his skin, Harry felt himself growing hard, and was never more thankful to be wearing robes in his life.

Tom grimaced, instantly releasing Harry’s hand. “I can taste,” he said, looking as if this was one sense he would rather do without.

“Hey, you can’t blame me,” he said, self-consciously wiping his hand on his robes, trying to clean some of the dirt off. “I didn’t tell you to taste my fingers after I’ve been climbing around rocks all afternoon.”

“You’re right. Next time, I’ll wait till your hands are clean.”

It took him a second to catch what Tom had said, and when it finally sunk in, Harry turned around and looked Tom over from head to toe, feeling a headache beginning to grow near the front of his skull. This was getting to be too much for him to handle. He didn’t know how to explain the man who stood before him, or what it was he felt when they were together. He didn’t know whether to just accept it and enjoy, or to be afraid, though right now, all his sense urged him towards the former.

Reaching up, Harry pressed a hand to Tom’s cheek, rubbing his thumb over Tom’s lips. “Your mouth--it was wet.”

“Isn’t it supposed to be?”

“Not if you’re dead,” he said, his frown increasing.

“I’m not a ghost, am I, Harry?” Tom asked, his voice sounding small.

Harry shook his head, his hand dropping back to his side. “I don’t think so.”

“Then what am I?”

“That’s what we’ve got to figure out,” he said and began walking towards the Quidditch field.

“Harry?” he asked, rushing to catch up.

“Yes, Tom?”

“Will it matter?”

“Will what matter?”

“If we can’t find out what I am, or if we do find out, and it’s something terrible, will it matter to you?”

Harry paused and looked at Tom to see the blue eyes were filled with fear. His heart grew heavy and he knew just what he wanted to do.

“Tom, concentrate on being solid.”

“What?”

“Just do it.”

Tom gave a shaky nod, closing his eyes as he concentrated. Hoping he wouldn’t break the young man’s concentration, Harry wrapped his arms around this latest incarnation of his enemy and hugged him. There was a quiet gasp of surprise in Harry’s ear, but then Tom relaxed, and hugged him back.

“It won’t matter to me, whatever you are, I promise.”

Tom sighed, burying his face in Harry’s neck. “Thank you, Harry. I don’t know how I’d survive without you.”

What frightened Harry most was that, at that moment, he wasn’t sure how he’d survive without Tom.


[Completed November 24, 2003]