Featherlight Taction

A/N: Sorry if there are some typos in the chapters, guys. I tend to not read through the chapters to actually correct them until later. Sometimes I miss a few things in my initial edit. I tend to be brain dead once I finish a chapter because I’ve most likely been writing for a few hours straight at the time. I’ll try and go back through the other chapters when I get a chance and fix the errors.

A/N 2: Once again, any suggestions for plot twists or something you want to see are welcome. Main plot is already developed, but little side things are always fun to add.

Enjoy!

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Is this the start of it?
Has this become a part of it?
Maybe we should've slowed down
it was the taste of it,
and this is how we wasted it.
Maybe we'll get it back somehow

It made me furious,
You said that if we bury this.
Never could dig up the past,
I couldn't handle it
I thought I could dismantle it.
Maybe some things weren't meant to last.

Kids of the frozen front range,
Carry the message if I fall.
Tell them we're moving on
sorting out who our enemies are.

I've seen it, you say I don't believe it
it's either or...

Tell me it's over or everything you hoped for
Tell me either way,
I know you know I never let this go

You've got the upper hand
wrapped tight around my neck again.
And I can't get the words out.
If you were listening
you'd hear the voice or reasoning
telling you to walk away from this somehow.

Kids of the frozen front range
Carry the message if I fall
Tell them we're moving on
Sorting out who our enemies are

I need this, you can't deny you feel it
it's either or...

Tell me its over or everything you hoped for
Tell me either way,
I know you know I never let this...
Tell me its over or everything you hoped for
Tell me either way,
I know you know I never let this go

Okay in the first degree,
there's nothing wrong with me.

o.k. in the first degree
there's nothing wrong

Tell me its over or everything you hoped for
Tell me either way,
I know you know I never let this...
Tell me its over or everything you hoped for
Tell me either way,
I know you know I never let this go

Okay in the first degree,
there's nothing wrong with me.

o.k. in the first degree
there's nothing wrong

-Meese – The Start of It

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Featherlight Taction

Chapter 9- Pretension

Tom Marvolo Riddle was currently sitting in his armchair in his quarters, head resting on his fist and blood-red eyes staring unblinkingly at the dark walls. Every now and then, his left eye would twitch, but that was all the movement he allowed himself.

Severus had left the manor to try and find books in the darkest of magical corners of London, hoping to find some answer to the question looming over Voldemort’s “predicament”, as it were. As such, Tom would have gladly berated Lucius for his incompetence, but alas, the elder Malfoy had stated that he had business at the Ministry that day, and Ministry ties were those which the Dark Lord was not yet willing to sever.

He sighed, a sound more like a hiss, and allowed himself to blink once; slowly. The blink refreshed his vision and he was unwillingly knocked out of his impatient stupor. Frowning, he lowered a pale, spidery hand to the arm of his chair, stretching his neck and taking in a deep breath.

He’d had a dream last night. It was a strange one. He was in the form of his agreeably more handsome self, and he stood in a dark room lit only by a solitary fireplace. He leaned in the doorway of the room, unable to move his gaze even as he became aware that he was not alone. When he had finally been able to move, he turned his head to find none other than Harry Potter staring at him. After what seemed to be a strained moment, the boy had spoken a word that had sent an unwelcome chill down Voldemort’s spine.

He had said “Tom”.

It wasn’t as if the brat hadn’t called him that before, but it was different that time. That time, there had been something else in the boy’s voice. It wasn’t laced with the normal hate or passionate anger, but etched with a frightened curiosity and intrigued confusion.

He’d woken up after that. That’s what he got for succumbing to the demon of sleep.

Riddle shook his head and tried to clear it, wondering if the simple physical movement would shatter all his contemplations. Sadly, it wasn’t that simple.

He had the gnawing feeling that his dream from the previous night was not his alone. It was not only shared in the realm of the dream, but in reality. The indescribable tug of his connection to Potter was definite when he had awoken.

This, as many things did these days, perplexed him. Never before had they met in the mental realm. They’d only ever been able to see through each others eyes and emotions. What was this strange new liaison they had formed?

The Dark Lord lifted his thin hand and inspected it lazily. He let it drift slowly towards the oak table to his right and slid his fingertips over the smooth wood.

What would it feel like to do this with my other hand? He wondered curiously. What would if feel like to touch this wood with the flesh that Potter gave me?

Had Harry really given him that other skin? The teen hadn’t done it on purpose, but he had, in a way, been the means of the transformation. So, once again, it had been Harry Potter who had left Lord Voldemort dazed and confused, unsure of his power and his humanity. Twice now, Harry had shattered the foundation of his being; and here he sat, in the room of his underground manor, thoughts driven by the memories of those moments when he had touched Harry—confused, angry, and desolate.

That afternoon in the graveyard had been a rude awakening to the Dark Lord.

He’d felt his own face with a morbid fascination and realization of what he had now become. Voldemort had always been willing to sacrifice a certain amount of his humanity to gain power. He did what was needed to be done in order to ascend. He had understood the sacrifice from the beginning, deeming it necessary to achieve his goals.

Never had he regretted his decision to throw aside what bonded him to everyone else.

Never had he doubted his choice to shred apart his soul and his body.

Never, not once, had he realized how much he missed what he’d so foolishly relinquished.

Never… until now.

For those split seconds of touch; those ethereal, insubstantial bits of time; Voldemort had felt human. He had missed what he lost. He had regretted…

And now he found himself longing, most aggravatingly so, to feel the wind against the skin of his face as it should be; to feel the touch of another’s flesh against his own. Not this cold, lifeless, brittle flesh that he had been cursed with, but the flesh of the courtyard and of the graveyard. He wanted to feel with that body. He wanted to breathe with it and see with it, but it had been taken away so quickly he hadn’t more than a moment of a thought to feel that torturous memory of himself.

Harry Potter had always been the vessel of Tom’s weakness. The young wizard had represented all that the Dark Lord had failed and everything that he could not do. Now the boy had taken one more blow to his pride. Now he was what Tom could not be. Now he was what Tom could have been. Now he was the embodiment of everything that Tom Riddle lacked; and everything that he wanted and desired.

It was so pathetically cruel that Potter could so easily and so inadvertently destroy him as he did.

Voldemort chuckled; a dark, mirthless rasp. He closed his eyes and the memory of Harry’s shocked face blew into his vision. What had that look been? Fear? Disgust? Mystification? Perhaps a bit of all of those things… and more. The emotional orbs that were Harry’s eyes was something that had always baffled the Dark Lord since the first time he’d laid eyes on the boy. They were passionate and arrogant, but that was only the surface. If you looked deeper you saw pain and resentment; most of which was most likely caused by Voldemort himself.

He really had destroyed Harry’s life, hadn’t he?

Funny how he had meant only to end it, and instead set in motion a race of despair and anger. He had deprived the teen of his parents, his loved ones, his life, and his future—all in one fail swoop.

Something akin to a flutter of guilt brushed at the lining of his mind. If there was one thing he regretted, it was that night sixteen years ago; the night when he had lost everything. He didn’t regret it because of Harry’s pain. He could care less about the boy’s pain. No, he regretted the wizard he had created; one whose destiny was only for him and his death. And, likewise, Voldemort had drawn out his own fate to be Harry.

Their destinies were focused entirely around one another. Sworn enemies linked by a jagged scar and a broken prophecy.

How ironic that they were to be each other’s obsession and motivation. Ultimately, they would bring upon the downfall of each other, but for now, they were the reason they both survived. They lived for death; a disgusting, pointless vendetta.

He ran his fingers along the tabletop once more, falling again into a catatonic contemplation.

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Severus pushed open the doors of the Hogwart’s entrance hall, feeling a rush of unwarranted fear for a moment, as if the polyjuice potion was ineffective and he would be spotted. The night of Dumbledore’s death rushed back to him and through all sense of logic, he feared being discovered in the one place where he was most unwelcome—the place that had once been his home and was now his exile.

However, a young Hufflepuff boy walked by and spotted him, smiling and waving. “His Neville!” he said gaily.

Forcing himself to speak, Severus responded with a throaty “hello” and a small wave. The boy didn’t seem to notice his hesitance, thankfully, and he walked on. The fear had left with that Hufflepuff, and for a split second, Severus was furious with himself for feeling the paranoia at all.

Lucius, or Ginny, rather, elbowed him pointedly and he grunted, turning to his companion.

“Where do we start?” Lucius inquired quietly, glancing around the hall to make sure they hadn’t been overheard. He flung a lock of red hair over his shoulder with a look of disdain.

“Walk around with that look on your face and we’ll not be able to go anywhere,” Severus hissed.

“What do you expect? These robes are such low quality, and I do not fancy having breasts,” Lucius spat, grimacing and looking down at his chest.

“What you prefer is irrelevant, Ginny,” Snape said the last word loudly as a couple Ravenclaws walked by and surveyed them curiously. Leaning in to speak more lowly, he continued. “Play the part or this will be a useless trip. Do you want to find out why Potter was here or not?”

Lucius rolled his borrowed eyes and sighed. He plastered a terribly fake looking smile onto Ginny’s freckled face and growled under his breath. “Is that better?”

Severus ignored him, pulling off Neville’s red and gold scarf in the heat of the castle. “I suggest we start at their common room.”

Lucius nodded and they began to head up the endless tower of moving staircases.

Severus mind was whirring. How would they get into the common room? They didn’t know the password. When they finally reached the seventh floor, they stared at the portrait of the Fat Lady. She was currently practicing opera, quite badly, and she paid them no heed. Lucius eyed Severus with a questioning look, and, in turn, Severus glanced around the corridor for a Gryffindor. Surely they would believe that Longbottom, of all people, would forget the password.

However, in his search he found not Gryffindors, but Slytherins. Two boys, third year by the looks of them, were chattering quietly to one another as they exited a corridor to the left of the Fat Lady’s portrait.

“I tell you, that’s where I saw him,” the shorted one muttered, pointing back to the corridor they had come from. His short, black hair almost covered his puffy eyes as he insisted his statement.

The other boy was chubby and squat. He reminded Severus of a young Vincent Crabbe. “Why would Potter have been there?” he said, unbelieving. “He doesn’t come here anymore. Don’t be stupid.”

“I’m not being stupid!” his housemate growled indignantly, “Potter was running through this hall just a few days ago, I swear it!”

At this point, both Severus and Lucius were watching the boys severely, drinking in every word in hopes of a clue.

“I was up here for Defense Against the Dark Arts and I saw him and that Granger girl and the Weasley walking through the corridor. Later they showed up again and they ran out when You-Know-Who was spotted!” the student was waving his arms dramatically, trying to emphasize his story as if that would make it believable. His companion merely shook his head and starting walking down the stairs.

The two elder Slytherins tuned out the rest boy’s spluttering and defiance of the honesty of his story and they slipped slowly into the hall the child had indicated. It was empty. Glancing quickly at one another, they prowled through the corridor, searching quietly through doors and in the shadows. Footsteps sounded behind them and they whirled to come face to face with a very startled looking Minerva McGonagall.

“Miss Weasley, Mister Longbottom,” she said curiously, “What in heavens name are you doing sneaking about? Have you lost your toad again?”

Severus nodded Neville’s head and pulled out a bashful grin. “I can’t seem to find him anywhere, Professor,” he said softly, trying to sound as Neville-like as possible. “Have you seen him?”

McGonagall shook her head. “No, I’m sorry.” She paused and gave them a strange look. “Shouldn’t you two be in Hogsmeade right now?” she asked suddenly.

Severus got the feeling she was hinting at something and a bit of nervousness dropped into his gut. Had they chosen the wrong pair to impersonate? Perhaps Weasley and Longbottom had actually had a purpose of some importance. He had to think fast.

Lucius beat him to the punch.

“Neville was so worried about his toad that we had to find him first,” he said lightly, his voice far too feminine. He must have used a charm to do that. “We were heading out to Hogsmeade once we found him.”

Minerva nodded. This seemed to sate her. “Very well, but you might want to hurry it up. You haven’t much time.” She nodded to them emphatically and swept out of the corridor briskly.

Severus sighed and rubbed his temples.
”Nosey, isn’t she?” Lucius inquired vaguely, looking around the hall.

Severus nodded. “Imagine being her colleague,” he replied tiredly, glancing at the wall beside them. Frustrated with their lack of progress, he began to pace. Where would Potter and his friends have gone? Why were they here? Why this corridor? Back and forth he walked, his eyes shut tight in thought. He turned to pace back again, but a small hand on his chest stopped him.

He opened his eyes to see Ginny staring up at him. For a moment, he thought it was really her, then he remembered the potions and straightened. “What?”

Lucius nodded towards the wall beside them. What had once been plain stone was now an elaborate door. What in the world?

The potions master turned Gryffindor looked at Lucius for an explanation, but the other merely shrugged.

Severus frowning, placed a plump hand on the door and pushed, marveling at the sight that appeared before him. It was a room, full of books and toys and endless items. The ceiling was high and the width long. “What in the name of Merlin is this?” he whispered.

“You’re telling me you’ve never seen this room before?” Lucius asked skeptically, following Snape into the chapel-like room.

“Not once,” the other wizard replied, “I’d no clue this even existed.”

“Well it looks like everyone else knew of it. Look at all these things!” Lucius gaped rather unceremoniously at the mountains of items. “Is this some sort of junk room?”

Severus shrugged as something caught his eye. He stepped cautiously forward, peering down at the darkened spot in the floor. It was a burn.

“Looks like something was unhappy to be here,” Lucius commented as Severus knelt down to inspect the blemish. “An explosive of some sort?”

Severus’ eyes narrowed and he shook his head. “No, this is magical residue.” He pulled out his wand and whispered, “Scorgio.” Nothing changed. “See? It will not clean by spell. This was caused by something of a great magical propensity.”

“Potter?”

Snape chuckled. “Potter.”

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Severus and Lucius hurried down the twisting stairways towards the entrance of Hogwarts. It was time to go. They had gotten what they had come for.

They skid to a stop when they heard excited voices echoing from the entrance hall; familiar voices.

“Professor McGonagall!! Professor!!”

“What is it, Mister Finnigan?”

“Ginny and Neville, they’ve been tied up!”

A shuffle of feet and a gasp.

“What? Where?”
”In the forest by Hogsmeade! We can’t get he rope to untie or cut. It’s strange-“

“That’s impossible! I just saw the two of them minutes ago upstairs!”

A confused silence.

Severus swallowed audibly and he and Lucius began to back away. They had to hide.

“But I saw them!” Seamus continued, “Professor, you have to help. They’ll freeze!”

Maternal and teacherly instinct took over logic and the two men heard Minerva agree. A group of people rushed out the door and into the snow.

The sigh that followed could probably have been heard for miles merely for its sheer, honest relief. “I’d rather not be caught and questioned,” Lucius hissed, knocking Severus out of his relief.

“Yes.” Severus nodded in agreement and once more drew his wand, casting disillusionment charms as the two hurried out the doors to the end of Hogwart’s wards so that they could disapparate and inspect their findings.

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Harry twirled the heavy book around in his hands, grimacing when he dropped it and it crashed loudly to the floor.

“I do wish you’d take better care of my books, Harry,” Remus Lupin said softly, observing Harry with a worried patience.

“Sorry,” Harry grumbled, picking up the text and setting it aside, slumping lifelessly into his chair.

Hermione had asked Remus to come to Grimmauld Place so that he could provide a sort of paternal reassurance to Harry. The raven-haired wizard had locked himself up in his room for three days straight, and try as they might, Ron and Hermione could not persuade him to come out. He’d finally given in when Remus arrived, only to sit himself in a dusty armchair and not move for the next half a day.

Remus had given up trying to speak to him, knowing that Harry would talk in his own good time, but he had to admit that his patience was wearing thin as he watched his friend’s son sit and suffer as he did.

He sighed and set his own book down on the table beside him, rising and switching seats to the armchair next to Harry’s. The boy turned away from him and curled up into a sort of ball.

“Harry…” Remus began, not in the least bit surprised when the teen did not answer, but still disappointed. “Ron and Hermione have not told me what happened.”

Harry turned and looked at him over his shoulder. He seemed surprised at this. “They didn’t?” he mumbled.

Remus smiled, thrilled to hear Harry speak and determined to keep it that way. “No. I wanted to hear it from you. It is up for you to tell me what you want to.” His honest expression remained steady and Harry relaxed a bit, looking away into the fire across the room.

“Will you tell me?” the older wizard asked gently, “You only have to tell me as much as you want to.” He was well aware of the fact that Harry and his friends were searching for horcruxes; most likely those belonging to Voldemort himself. He was furious with Dumbledore for having set such a dangerous task upon mere children, but as he stared into their weathered eyes, he knew in his heart that they were children no more; aged by experience more than time.

“We were at Hogwarts a while back,” Harry said quietly. Remus nodded. Minerva had told him this. “We were searching for something… to destroy it. And… when it die it went into me.”

The werewolf paled. Surely Harry did not mean that the soul from the horcrux had transferred itself to Harry?

“Then Voldemort came,” Harry said, finally looking at Remus, “And he grabbed my throat.” He stopped, searching for the right words before he continued. “When he touched me… he changed. He looked normal.”

“Normal?” Remus asked, rubbing his chin. “What do you mean?”

Harry shrugged. “He looked like a regular man. Hermione figured out that it must be what he was meant to look like. What he would have looked like if…”

Suddenly, Remus understood why Harry was so upset. “What he would have looked like if he hadn’t tried to kill you,” he finished. Harry nodded solemnly.

Remus looked away. So that was why Harry was so frustrated and confused. The Voldemort he had seen at Hogwarts was the image of what Harry’s life could have been. He was the visage of what would have come if Voldemort had not killed Harry’s parents and destroyed Harry’s life. The man Harry had seen in the courtyard was the representation of what Harry lost, and it was the harsh realization of what had happened instead. Lupin found himself thinking of Voldemort and Harry as the same person. Their faces had both been warped by that day sixteen years ago; Voldemort’s more visible than Harry’s, but they were both changed from it, nonetheless.

Harry touched his scar. It was the mark that he bore as a reminder, just as Tom Riddle was reminded daily by his reptilian shell. What would have come to be if the Dark Lord had not attacked Harry that night? What would have happened if he had not lost his last shred of humanity in the backfire of the Avada Kedavra? Would he have become the inhuman monster that he was today?

Harry shook his head. He was still a monster back then. Just because his face was not that of a snake, that did not mean that Voldemort was not a venomous beast. He was still evil back then.

But somehow… it was different. The physical façade had changed something. It was the difference between hope and destiny. The face Harry had seen in the graveyard was confused and frightened. It was not the same face that had killed his parents and destroyed his life. Yes, it was still Tom Riddle. It was still Lord Voldemort. But something else was there. Something not quite evil

Something human.

And that gave Harry hope.

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