Chapter Text
A GLOWING GREEN FLAME
Chapter 10 - La Grande Finale
Harry paces in the bathroom, stopping every couple of rounds to stare at the beauty kit on the counter. He’s gotten this far, surely it shouldn't be so difficult to try something.
But then he’ll want to wear it.
“I will tell you if it looks bad, darling.” Tom leans against the doorframe. “Here.” He grabs the spell book, flipping it open to the hair section. “Start with one of these. Ease yourself into it.”
Harry tries to keep his hands from shaking as he pulls the book close. There’s a hair growth spell at the top of the page, something simple.
“I’ll be working on my homework.” Tom steps back into the bedroom.
Harry’s face is pale, lightning bolt scar a black contrast on his forehead. He grits his teeth and waves his wand. “Comae crescere.”
His inky black hair tickles at the roots, then slowly stretches down, from close to his head down to his shoulders, then further, until it hits the middle of his back.
It pulls upwards as it curls into crazy ringlets.
A strike of creativity hits Harry’s body. He can’t stop the wand that conjures a muggle pair of scissors. He brushes some hair forward and cuts a bang.
His fingers break open the makeup products. He carefully applies blusher, mascara, and a light pink lipstick.
He is so pretty. Was this what he could be all along?
Harry forces his feet to take him into their quarters, waiting for Tom to look up from his work.
The corner of Tom’s mouth turns up. He places his quill into the inkpot and turns. His eyes drag across Harry’s face.
“I’ll fix it.” Harry strides back to the bathroom.
“Nothing needs to be fixed.” Tom’s hand curls around Harry’s forearm. “You’re gorgeous.”
Harry’s heart pounds in his ears. “You really think so?”
Tom’s fingers slide up Harry’s chest, thumbs sliding up behind his ears as he holds his face. “Let me?” His eyes flicker to Harry’s lips.
Harry bursts forward and his lips brush Tom’s, warm and wet. A heat sinks to the bottom of Harry’s stomach.
Tom hauls him close, palms pressing into Harry’s back. They kiss furiously. Tom wins the tug of war, pressing Harry against the wall, fitting his thigh between Harry’s legs.
Those long fingers curl into Harry’s ringlets, tugging his head back so he can have access to Harry’s neck and spill kisses down the line of it, teeth scraping across the tendon.
Harry gasps, “Tom.”
“I adore you,” Tom whispers, smiling against Harry’s collarbone. “Let me show you.”
“Yes.” Harry quells the Uncle Vernon in the back of his mind. “I want that.”
Tom presses his thigh harder, increasing the pressure on Harry’s cock. “You’re mine.”
“Yes.” Harry’s hands shake, grasping the front of Tom’s robe.
Tom grips Harry’s hips, and pulls them together in a steady rhythm, each forward press ascending Harry higher. He’s so close.
“Tom.”
“It’s okay,” Tom says. He bites Harry’s lip, giving it a tug. They kiss, wet and messy, as Harry finds his release.
Harry sucks in a breath, hands tight on Tom’s shoulders. “Let me.”
“You don’t have to.”
Harry brushes his fingertips across Tom’s hardness.
A moan leaks from Tom’s throat.
Harry squeezes it slowly. He reaches inside Tom’s pants and curls his fingers around the warm length. He grips tightly and strokes until -
Tom grits his teeth and comes, the tension dissipating from his body. He smiles slowly. “Come on, gorgeous. Lie down with me.”
So they lie down together, warm hands clasped, noses an inch apart.
“This can’t be real,” Harry whispers.
o0o0o0o
Tom shovels some broccoli onto Harry’s plate. Eat this.
“Tom, are you coming?” Fiona rests her hand on her hip, her foot tapping against the stone floor.
“Of course.” Tom gives her an empty smile. He squeezes Harry’s hand. See you after.
Marcus slaps Tom on the shoulder and steers him to follow their little study group.
Harry draws his shoulders close to his ears and tries to eat as quickly as possible. An owl swoops over his head, dropping a letter onto his lap.
Meet me at the abandoned potions classroom in 20 minutes. It’s important. Please don’t bring Tom.
-Neville
Harry frowns, turning the note over to check the back. He casts some revealing spells Tom taught him. Tom is deep in thought, stress shaking the bond. It’s not worth bothering him. Maybe it’s something really personal, and that’s why Neville doesn’t want Tom there.
It could be completely innocent.
The Gryffindor table roars with laughter. Dean Thomas shoves an entire sandwich inside his mouth, trying not to choke.
Neville gives an awkward wave from his place apart from the group.
10 minutes later, Harry strides down the hallway towards the potions’ classroom. The hairs rise on the back of his neck. There’s no more time to debate whether he’s making the right decision or not.
Harry curls his hand around his wand and the door creaks open.
Neville stands up from behind a dusty desk. “Hello.” His face is a greenish hue, eyelashes fluttering.
Something terrible is going to happen. “Neville?”
Neville sways, hand braced, but it's not enough to keep him upright.
Harry turns back to the door; it’s locked. He gets halfway through a spell, only to find something poked into his neck, an arm curled around his chest.
“Drop your wand.”
Harry huffs; the wood clatters against the floor.
Harry, I’m a little tied up at the moment. Could you get help?
I have a wand pointed at my neck.
The bond fuzzes out. Harry can’t feel anything but himself. For the first time in two months, he’s alone in his head.
“What are you doing to Tom?”
“Bring him to the circle.” A voice behind him says.
The desks and chairs fade into nothingness, leaving Neville on the floor beside a salt-drawn pentagram.
“Can you please make sure Neville is alright?”
The person pokes their wand in harder, causing Harry to choke. “Get in.”
Harry steps inside the salt circle.
Ginny shuffles into view, using mobilus corpus to slide Neville against the wall. “He’s just asleep, Harry. He won’t be harmed.”
Harry turns.
Hermione has her arms crossed, her wand clenched tightly. “Don’t worry, Harry. We’ll get all of the dark magic out of you and things can go back the way they were.”
“What’s the next step?” Ron says, holding a book up high and squinting.
“You’re holding it upside down.” She snatches it.
“I was just trying to decipher the picture.”
Harry takes a deep breath and sits. The magic won’t let him leave the circle. “What did you do to Tom?”
“Thomas Riddle, you mean.” Hermione spits. “You know what he did to Ginny.”
“It’s Gaunt,” Harry sighs.
“That’s just some stupid story you came up with.”
“It’s Riddle. I can tell,” Ginny says.
Harry twitches. “If you hurt him, I will hurt you.”
Hermione sniffs and waves the two close. “I need you to chant your lines.”
Green alights from Harry’s fingers, dancing into the air. “You have 10 seconds to tell me where Tom is.”
Hermione raises her wand and begins tracing runes in the air.
Ginny and Ron chant latin.
Harry releases the magic. It slams against the walls of the circle, bouncing back and forth. The boundaries shake outward before resuming their shape.
“Fulgarei,” he says. Lightning strikes. Green flashes, breaking the potion bottles on the shelves. The salt puffs into the air.
The three Gryffindors fall onto the stone floor.
Harry’s wand slaps into his hand.
Hermione tries to lift her arm, but it’s pinned to the ground by purple vines that curl up from the floor. The vines twine around her neck and stomach.
“The more you struggle, the tighter they’ll be.” Harry crouches beside Hermione.
“You’re Voldemort, just like she said.” Ron shrieks, before a vine wraps over his mouth and pulls taut.
Harry taps his wand on Hermione's forehead, watching her flinch. “Where is Tom?”
“You’ll never find him.”
“Crucio.”
She flails and screams. He releases the spell. She shakes and sucks in a breath.
“This is the last time I’ll ask.”
Hermione grimaces. “No.” She spits, the spittle hitting Harry’s cheek.
“I know worse spells than that, Hermione.” Harry aims his wand -
“Dumbledore has him,” Ginny says. “Please don’t hurt her anymore.”
“Thank you, Ginny.” Harry inclines his head. “The vines will release in say, 24 hours or so. I’m sure you’ll be fine until then.”
Neville gasps as he is renervarated. “Harry?”
“Can you walk?”
Neville climbs to his feet. “What happened?” He gestures to Hermione, Ginny, and Ron.
“They’re fine. They kidnapped you, and used the imperious, it seems. I have to rescue Tom. Can you get to Madam Pomfrey?”
“I can help you.” Neville holds himself upright on the wall.
“You’re too bruised up.”
“I’m going to help you.” Neville stumbles forward.
Harry sucks in a breath. He doesn’t have the time to argue. “If you really want to help you’ll get Professor Moody and ask him to come to Dumbledore’s office for a rescue mission.”
Tom is tied to a chair, his chin resting against his chest, eyes closed. The ropes glow yellow.
“Let him go.”
“I gave you a chance, my boy, and you’ve wasted it. I’ve smelt that dark magic from miles away.” Dumbledore shakes his head, eyes watery.
“I said ,” Harry’s wand glows deep green, “let him go .”
Dumbledore gives a pitying smile. “What about your friends, my boy? They put a lot of work into that ritual.”
“ Tom is my friend.”
“Then be careful what you cast, Harry. Tom and I are tied together until he is purified.”
Dumbledore raises his arm, and his sleeve slips down, revealing a rope around his wrist glowing yellow.
Tom’s face is too pale, lines of purple climbing under his skin.
“Take it off.” Harry’s voice shakes. “He’s fine the way he is.”
“That won’t be possible until we’re done. Now just stay back, my boy. It will only take a few minutes.”
“Fulgarei!” Harry pushes the lightning forward. It smashes against Dumbledore’s shield, which holds.
“I told you to stay back .” Dumbledore’s magic spills forward, too strong to fight.
The magic throws Harry’s body to the floor, spiking pain as his bones hit the stone. Chains clamp around Harry’s limbs.
He’s too late, and Dumbledore is too powerful.
A chisel floats through the air, carving the ground around Tom’s chair. Please wake up .
Tom’s body shakes in his seat like he’s having a seizure. The air smells like brimstone.
Harry’s wand is within reach. If he could just move - he’s used Fulgarei twice. It has swept all the energy out of body, but he has to do something.
The chains jingle as he tries to tug. They’re bolted to the floor. Harry bangs his head against the floor, think!
Dumbledore approaches Tom’s chair, and the shaking stops. “Oh Great Merlin, cleanse this boy of dark magics!” He repeats it in latin, hands tight around Tom’s knees.
A green light flashes forward, striking Dumbledore’s back. The old man crumples onto the floor, his chest still.
“Enough of that, I think.” Barty strides forward and kicks Dumbledore further away from Tom. “A bit of a close call, my lord.” He tries to cast a renervate on Tom.
Tom’s chin remains on his chest, his breathing slow and even.
Barty pauses. “Uh oh.” He turns. Harry’s chains break with a flick of his wand.
Harry rushes forward. “We have to break the yellow ropes. Do you know what they are?”
“I haven’t the foggiest.” Barty gives a nervous grin. “But I’m sure we can figure it out?”
Harry pushes Dumbledore’s corpse onto its back and pulls its sleeve up. He casts every detection spell he can think of before trying to curl his fingers under the bracelet.
“It’s like it’s welded to the skin.”
Footsteps and yelling approaches.
Barty throws a locking spell at the door. “That won’t hold them long. I’m sure some sort of ward went off when I killed the bastard.”
Harry scrunches his nose and runs to the window. “Accio school brooms.”
They fly above the Forbidden Forest, Tom held tight in Harry’s arms, Dumbledore’s hand held tight in Barty’s.
“Master of dirty blood is coming to Mistress’ house.”
“Move, Kreacher.” Harry snarls, holding Tom tight in his arms. He stomps down the hallway and kicks open the door to the library.
“I don’t know what to do.” Harry whispers. It’s too quiet in his head.
“Well this is the right place to figure it out.” Barty gasps, fingers reaching out to touch the spine of a book. He stops himself and casts some detection spells. “We won’t go into that corner.” He points.
Harry presses a soft kiss to Tom’s forehead and leaves him on the dusty couch.
Dumbledore’s pale, wrinkled hand lies on the table, the bracelet glowing against the skin.
“Is dirty master wanting refreshments?” Kreacher wrings his hands, grimacing in the doorway.
“Leave us, Kreacher.” Harry squeezes the bridge of his nose. “Tom would know what this was.”
“Perfect idea, Potter.” Barty’s eyes shine.
“What idea?”
“Well he didn’t pick you for your brain, I’ll say that.”
Harry bolts forward and points a glowing finger at Barty’s chest. “He picked me because I’m magically strong enough to kill you without a wand, Crouch. What’s the idea?”
“We’ll sit you down, put you in a magical trance and you can see if you access him by your mental bond.”
Harry opens his mouth to argue… the bond is quiet. But what does he have to lose? He plops beside Tom. “Go ahead.” He squares his jaw.
Barty shuffles forward, and slowly points his wand at Harry, at his shoulders and then up to his head, murmuring Latin too quiet to hear.
The world drifts out of focus. Harry blinks, sucking a breath. He’s floating in darkness, a ribbon of bright green wrapped around his waist. It leads out as far as he can see.
“Tom!” Harry shouts. He grits his teeth and curls his fingers around the rope, beginning to pull himself forward.
Like a television searching for a channel, static sounds at the other side of the bond.
Harry’s lungs hurt. He works as fast as possible, feet kicking in the abyss. Tom, it’s Harry.
… Harry? A voice whispers.
Yes. Come closer.
Who’s Harry?
It’s me. Your bondmate. A figure appears at the end of the rope, a pale body shrouded in black.
Harry gets close enough to touch. Tom is cold. His eyes shut and surrounded by rings of purple.
Tired. Tom sighs.
I need you to wake up, Tom.
Sleepy.
Tom, I… I love you. Please don’t go.
Love? Tom squints his eyes open, a bit of blue glowing in the darkness. Harry? His hands reach out, burning cold on Harry’s arms.
Do you remember me?
It’s hard.
Tom, I need you to think. What’s the spell that would have yellow ropes around you and Dumbledore? How do I wake you up?
Kill him.
He’s dead.
Tom forces his eyes to be fully open. Fiendfyre on his side of the rope. Do it.
I’ll be back. Harry presses a kiss to Tom’s cold lips. “Barty! Barty!”
The Black family library swims into the darkness. Harry is sucked back to the real world, leaving the sleepy Tom behind.
“We have to burn Dumbledore’s bracelet with Fiendfyre.”
“Oh.” Barty blinks. “Do you know how to cast Fiendfyre?”
“We never practiced. Do you not?”
“I could, when I was young.” Barty’s grin shakes on his face. “But I don’t think I’d be able to hold it now.”
“Fuck.” Harry twists his fingers through his hair and tugs. “Okay, do you know a field or something we can apparate to?”
“I know somewhere.”
Harry scoops Tom into his arms, heaving a breath. “Let’s go.”
They fall into dry, overgrown grass. Harry grits his teeth as he softens the fall for Tom’s body.
Barty places Dumbledore’s hand down a few feet away, onto a pedestal of cracked stone.
“Where are we?” A castle, tall and worn, stands in the distance. They seem to be in an abandoned courtyard.
“Crouch Castle. Daddy’s dead, so he won’t mind if the fire gets out of hand.” Barty shifts his weight from foot to foot. “Go ahead. I’ll apparate us away if need be.”
Harry swallows. “Thank you, Barty.”
“Go ahead, Potter.”
He can do it. Tom would believe that. Harry holds out his hand, wand shaking. “ Fortis ignis. ”
It’s as if lava spills from his body, intense heat jumping forward, baring its teeth and swallowing the hand in one gulp.
Harry drops to his knees. A drop of sweat drips from his forehead, down and falling off of his nose.
“ Harry. ” Strong arms encircle his body. “Let me help you.”
Magic trickles through the bond; it becomes easy to quiet the fire, until it extinguishes all together, smoke rising into the clouds.
Harry’s eyelids flutter. He calls up enough to turn and face Tom, who looks as tired as Harry feels.
“You’re alive.” Harry touches the ropes still lying on Tom’s body. They disintegrate in his hands.
“So are you. Thank you.” Tom’s fingers brush along Harry’s cheekbone. “I think we need to sleep for a week.”
“That can be arranged, I believe.” Barty gives them each an awkward pat on the shoulder. “How about we head back to that cursed house?”
o0o0o0o
Thank you for writing, Harry.
I am doing well. The three Gryffindors in question are very quiet this week. Some aurors hassled the students for a bit about Dumbledore, but no one is offering up any information.
Let me know when it’s safe to visit.
Your friend,
Neville.
Epilogue
Harry flips his hair over his shoulder, tapping his long deep green nails against the study table. Tom’s hands move around wildly as he explains a topic from his Dark Arts text to another Durmstrang student.
“Are you coming, Harry?” Neville asks, books piled high in his arms. “I want to get this potion right the first time for Professor Nilsen.”
“On my way.” Harry’s long skirt swishes around his ankles. See you later.
Tom takes a breath between sentences and smiles brightly, waving goodbye.