In Company of Wolves

“Magical Suppression? What’s what?”

Leaving forward, Riddle brushed the back of his hand across Harry’s forehead, lifting the bangs aside to look at his scar. Harry allowed the gesture, silently wondering why it didn’t cause him any pain to allow the contact when every time in the past it had caused him untold agony.

“Magical depletion usually occurs when an external source is siphoning magic from a magical being. While that is the most normally excepted source, sometimes a big change in the physiology of a witch or wizard can bring about a use of a large section of that person’s magic. If malnourished, underage, or under a magical block or siphon, the person will eventually collapse, or their bodies will simply cease to function.”

Emerald eyes widened in shock as the boy began to hyperventilate, his chest rising and falling in an uneven staccato rhythm.

“Shh..” Drawing the boy to his chest, the wizard ran his hand along the boys back, offering support and trying to calm him down. “You have gone though a lot, but there is no need for you to panic.”

“But you said…” Harry sobbed, clutching at Riddle’s robes, his previous mental state returning to torment him.

“I know what I said. I also know that whatever magic you have lost, it can be replaced and everything will be fine. It’s not that serious a condition, and you probably have had it for a while. You are still alive, right?”

He drew Harry’s head back and lifted his chin so that he could look into his eyes. The verdant orbs glistened with tears, the paths of those that had already fallen drying against his cheeks. “Right?”

The no longer small boy nodded slowly, still sobbing. It was just too much for him to handle, everything that had happened in the past 48 hours crashing down on him. Why couldn’t he just be normal for once? That’s all that he wanted, a simple, normal life where no one wanted to be his friend simply because of his celebrity status. A life where no one would turn his or her back on him when he expressed a difference of opinion. Why couldn’t Sirius have survived? Why… was he so unworthy that the gods had decided to take away the one thing that he had to live for? His only remaining family? Why was fate so cruel…

Armand slithered up Harry’s torso and around his wings, which were twitching softly from where the were slumped against his back, reflecting his abject sorrow. The comforting presence of his familiar and the strong chest that he rested against lent him quiet strength, even as he continued to cry. Fingers clenching in the dark robes of his ‘enemy’, he was finally able to release his grief over everything.

Eventually his sobs tapered off, Riddle’s hand still stroking his back in small, soft circles. A comfortable feeling settled on the room’s atmosphere, the fire crackling merrily in its grate as the two settled into a mutual silence.

The soft play of light on the walls was mesmerizing, the flicker of the orange and black shadows that moved on the plush red carpet that graced the floor hypnotizing. Eventually his eyes grew heavy as he examined the books on the shelves from afar, the titles all muggle in origin, and the majority in the fantasy genre. Everything in the room seemed to come together in a complete whole, the safety it presented tantalizing in its entirety.

Even as the silence dragged on, the soft ticking of a clock could be heard, the click, click of it’s hands growing louder in the silence. Ultimately it was Harry who broke the stillness. “You aren’t what I’ve come to expect you to be,” he mumbled.

“Neither are you.” Riddles reply was hushed as well.

Several more minutes passed, and even though it was only afternoon outside the castle, Harry’s activities had completely worn him out and his eyelids slid shut against his will, against everything in him that protested sleeping in the other’s presence. Slumber beckoned with her weary hands and he accepted their fair caresses as he tumbled into the darkness that dwelt behind his lids. No dreams awaited him, the fates kinder to him in that moment even with all their meddling.

Sighing, Riddle scooped up the unconscious boy once more, apparating to his room as he walked. The room was the antithesis of his drawing room, the dark drapes as green as the abundant forests that surrounded the house, that of the Slytherin house. The drapes around his bed were also the same color, though his sheets were a back that seemed to absorb the light around the bed that was illuminated by torches held in their brackets around the walls. There wasn’t much in the way of furniture, only a nightstand that was on the left of the bed, made of the deepest mahogany.

Depositing his bundle in the bed, he tucked the sheets in around his figure, brushing the hair away from his face. A nostalgic look crosses his features, pain haunting his crimson orbs, his mouth twisting into a grimace as he turned on heel and strode sharply from the room.

“Nancy.” He spoke softly as the doors closed behind him. At the sound of his voice a little house elf appeared, a white, frilly apron covering her pot-belly and brown, wrinkly skin; the characteristics of her race. Her large, pointy ears flopped as she bowed to her master.

“Master called?”

“I’m going to the potions lab. Be sure to get me once the boy awakens.” He turned to go, but not before adding one thing. “Also, can you fix up the other green room... the one at the end of the hall.”

“Nancy happy to help kind Master Riddle sir! Nancy gets Master sir if other Master Wizard sir wakes.”

“Thank you, Nancy.”

Somewhere in the depths of the castle, wherever the red drawing room was located, a snake and an owl stared at each other in annoyance. Day passed into night as the baleful yellow stare of the owl accused the snake of things that only an owl could think of, and the snake stared back in indignation of being stared at. And so it continued…