Chapter Text
Tom tossed the Daily Prophet aside with a huff. What a load of rubbish. The headlines were filled with nothing but fear mongering. There was an article warning about ‘dementors gone rogue,’ how they’ve disappeared from Azkaban altogether, and what if the ‘lack of prison security’ was an omen to the destruction of their society as a whole. Salazar, that’s a stretch, isn’t it? There was an article about how muggleborn protection laws and radical beliefs would be the destruction of sacred pureblood traditions and the sanctity of their family lines.
But that wasn’t the worst of it.
Grindelwald this and Grindelwald that—it was never ending. There were a couple of articles discussing his politics, but there were pages and pages of articles surrounding Grindelwald’s war in Europe and Britain. His forces were becoming bolder by the day. Grindelwald kept attacking towns and homes with wizarding children.
Tom frowned, brow pinching together. He wasn’t just fighting to subjugate Britain. His war against muggles had been going on for nearly two decades now. But this was new. There had to be another motive hidden in his movements
It’s almost like he’s looking for someone.
The war in Britain started with the massacre of muggle families with magical children. Any families Grindelwald raided, unless they resisted and fought back, he didn’t kill adult wizards or witches. All of these families had young children, which would lead one to believe… Hm. Was he looking for a child? But why? What could Grindelwald be possibly want in a child?
It didn’t make any sense.
Tom had thought the orphaning of so many children had been meant to put financial strain on the government, but what if there was something more?
“What did the paper have to say?” asked Harry.
“Nothing but rubbish,” said Tom, tucking into his porridge.
“Well, unsurprising coming from the Daily Prophet,” said Harry with a low chuckle. “But I’m pretty sure I saw Grindelwald on the cover.”
“Oh, yes, all of the rubbish is about him and the war. However, it’s filled with nothing but incendiary rhetoric meant to provoke fear and outrage in the reader. What a waste of parchment.”
Harry leaned an elbow on the table and rested his chin in his hand. “How bad is it?” he asked quietly.
“It’s not pleasant,” whispered Tom. He threw Harry a firm look. “Don’t you get any ideas.”
Harry’s gaze softened. “I won’t.”
“You wanted to run off and go fight the Dark Lord before. Pardon me if I don’t quite trust you wouldn’t tear off into the night on a reckless hero’s adventure.”
“I changed my mind.”
Tom snorted. “Why don’t I believe you?”
“I’m needed here.”
They caught in his chest, those words. Coals turned in the hearth and that familiar heat flared up in Tom’s body. He swallowed. He wasn’t sure what to make of the expression Harry held. There was a knowing fondness there, a tenderness to his gaze, the light within his eyes gentle.
Tom might need to go to the hospital wing if his heart kept fluttering like this.
“Hiya, Harry. Hiya, Tom.”
Tom breathed out, relief spreading through his body. Harry and Tom twisted in their seats. Monty stood near them with a bright smile on his face, rocking back and forth on his heels with his hands clasped behind his back.
“Haven’t seen either of you in ages! I know Christmas was a month ago, but did you both have a nice holiday?” asked Monty. He tilted his head. “I got your chocolate frogs. Thank you!”
Salazar, Tom could see it even more clearly now. He couldn’t believe there weren’t more rumors about Harry and the Potters because Harry and Monty looked so much more alike than he’d noticed before. The way Harry’s face lit up was so similar to Monty’s smile. They could’ve passed as brothers.
“We did,” said Harry, a fond smile lifting his lips. He ruffled Monty’s hair and the boy giggled. “And you’re welcome. Did you have a good Christmas?”
“Uh huh!” chirped Monty. “I got a bunch of new books. My favorite has got loads of recipes for some wicked potions. Can I eat with you?”
And he didn’t wait for a reply. The little boy just stepped forward and slipped into the space between Tom and Harry, plopping down onto the bench. Monty gave each of them his winning smile before he turned his attention to the table. He rocked a bit from side to side, lightly bumping against Tom, swinging his legs with each rock.
“I really wanna eat beside my friends this morning,” said Monty. He chewed on his lower lip and kept his chin tucked. “Is that okay?” he whispered.
Over Monty’s wild mane of black hair, Harry gave Tom a warning look, daring him to protest.
Tom sighed. “Best get you a plate, then,” he said, summoning an empty plate, some utensils, and a napkin from a few seats away.
Monty perked up and wiggled with unrestrained excitement.
“What’s with the Gryffindor runt?” asked Sebastian, sitting across the table and narrowing his eyes at Monty. “You lost, kid?”
“Nope!” chirped Monty. “I’m sitting with my friends, Harry and Tom.”
Sebastian’s eyes went wide. He looked at Tom, who languidly handed Monty his napkin.
“That goes on your lap,” said Tom.
“I know!” said Monty cheerfully.
Sebastian leaned back in his seat, his expression pinched, as if he swallowed a particularly bitter lemon. “Is this going to be a regular thing?” he asked.
“No,” said Tom, before either Harry or Monty could answer. “Monty needs to eat with his housemates so he can make friends with those in his dorm year.” He met Monty’s gaze. “Since you’ll be living with them for the next six years.”
Monty sighed. “I suppose so.”
“It can take a little time,” whispered Tom.
The boy nodded and didn’t say anything more. He grabbed the bowl of mixed fruit that was the closest to him and picked out only the strawberries, neatly lining them up on his plate. He grabbed two pieces of toast with butter and began to nibble on one, going right back to his fidgeting.
The boy was oddly silent for most of breakfast. When the other Slytherin boys arrived, they gave Monty a passing, questioning look before they tucked into their food without comment. Once Monty was finished, he began to squirm and wiggle on the bench again, tucking his bottom lip in between his teeth.
“Harry, Tom?” Monty fidgeted. “So, uh, Effie, Eileen, Cygnus, and I were gonna go play in the snow after breakfast and…” He twisted his hands together, biting his lip even more. “Wanna come with us?”
“You’re friends with Eileen?” asked Harry. “When did that happen?”
“We met in the library once,” said Monty. He giggled, wrinkling his nose. “Eileen and Cygnus were talking about their brothers dating and how they liked to snog each other so much.”
Alphard spat out his pumpkin juice while Quintus choked on a sausage link. The other four Slytherin boys snickered as the two of them coughed.
“And Effie loves to know everything about anything,” said Monty, not noticing how he nearly asphyxiated Alphard and Quintus with a few words. “She insisted they tell her everything and so they did. I got two more friends now, Harry!”
“That’s great,” said Harry; there was a tremor to his voice and a tenseness to his jaw, yet his eyes held a twinkle. He pulled his lips tight; the edges of his mouth lifted slightly. He coughed. “They’ll be good friends.”
“Cygnus!” demanded Alphard, slamming his napkin onto his plate and glaring down the table. “The hell—what have you been talking about?”
A young boy with short black hair glanced up from his plate a number of seats away. “What?” he called back. “What’re you on about?”
“You’ve been talking to Eileen?”
“Oh. Of course. She’s my friend. Why wouldn’t I?”
Quintus groaned, cheeks red, and ducked his head, hiding his face in his hands. “Merlin’s tits, Eileen, what have you been saying?” he muttered.
“About us?”
Cygnus narrowed his eyes briefly; then, he smirked. “Obviously,” he drawled.
“Hiya, Cy!” chirped Monty, leaning forward and waving at the other boy. “I asked Harry and Tom to come play in the snow with us.”
“You wanna get clobbered by sixth years?”
“They won’t—” Monty looked back at Tom. “You’ll play nice with us, right?”
Tom really wanted to point out that he hadn’t actually agreed to go out and ‘play in the snow’ with a bunch of first years, especially since the last time he’d been out in the snow with a certain someone, Tom had landed flat on his back and had been forced to question his entire existence.
But the damn boy had the same pouty face as Harry.
Goddammit.
“Of course,” said Tom. He gestured to the other Slytherin boys. “We all will.”
“What?” said Sebastian.
“Sounds like fun,” said Roland. “I can hold back for a few firsties.”
Simon nodded while Marcus shrugged.
“Perfect,” said Alphard; his grin turned dark and manic. He cracked his knuckles. “Perfect time to get revenge on a little brother for gossiping about his older brother.”
“Don’t, Al—Eileen was just talking to her friend,” said Quintus, tugging on Alphard’s sleeve. He lowered his voice. “And you know she has few of those.”
“Wait, I didn’t agree to this,” snapped Sebastian.
Tom flicked his gaze at him and stared. Sebastian slouched in his seat and grumbled under his breath.
Monty twisted in his seat and clambered out. He skipped over to the Ravenclaw table and coaxed Eileen away from her breakfast, pulling her along behind himself by the hand and making his way to the Slytherin table. He beelined for Effie and collected Cygnus after her. A few moments later, the four first years had gathered behind Harry and Tom, looking at them expectantly.
There was a beat of silence.
Harry broke into a peal of laughter and Tom thought a little frolic in the snow might be worth it, if only to hear those sounds once more.
The first years had the boundless energy of eight week old puppies. Cygnus kept goading Alphard and Quintus, who had resisted for all of five minutes before they tore after him. The rest of the children laughed in delight and ran down the sloping snow covered ground after them. Roland and Simon took one look at each other, grabbed Sebastian and Marcus by the wrists, and darted after the children—with Sebastian and Marcus protesting all along the way. The Black Lake glistened in the sunlight, the rippling water tickling the shore in gentle waves. In a clearing near the lake’s edge, Alphard and Quintus caught up to Cygnus, grabbed him by the wrists and ankles, and tossed the shrieking boy into a snow pile.
This only prompted Monty to cry, “I wanna go next!”
Harry didn’t move to catch up with the group, still walking at Tom’s side. The air was crisp, yet pleasant, the sky a brilliant, cloudless blue. The sun shone bright and eased some of the winter chill.
“I’m glad he’s making more friends,” said Harry. “He was getting bullied a few months ago.”
“Mmm,” murmured Tom. “Are you related to him?”
Harry froze. “W-What?”
“To Monty. Are you related to him?”
“No, I’m not—of course not.”
Tom narrowed his eyes. “You’re lying to me.”
Harry pursed his lips together and looked away.
“Why is it necessary you lie about this? Surely you realize the resemblance between you two is uncanny. Quite a miracle there hasn’t been more rumors about it. You could be brothers.”
Well, if it weren’t for your green eyes, though their shape is similar. And the color of your skin isn’t as dark and you’ve got a more neutral tone in your skin compared to his warmer tone. Your nose is different, too, a little smaller and your mouth—
Tom blinked.
Harry let out a low sigh and ran a hand through his hair. “I can’t. I’m just Harry Evans.”
“So, it is true, then,” said Tom, oddly breathless, taking Harry’s words as an admission. Harry huffed and nodded. “You can’t what?”
“Look, it’s complicated—”
“Do they know?”
Harry shook his head. “And I’d like to keep it that way, all right?” he said with emphasis, giving Tom a pointed look. “Rumors are fine, but I’d rather not have anyone actually believing it to be true.”
Why? The boy obviously adores you. His family would welcome you with open arms.
“If you’re the bastard son of a Potter, they’d still allow you into their family,” said Tom. His brow furrowed with his rising confusion. “The Potter family is a rather progressive pureblood family. They wouldn’t mind you being a halfblood. They’re Gryffindors.”
“I don’t need to be accepted into their family,” said Harry. “I have what I need now.”
“But the connections—”
Harry scoffed out a laugh. “Please. Do you really think that a bastard would be accepted and be able to achieve a higher level of status than an unknown halfblood could? I doubt it—not that I actually give a shit about status.”
Tom inclined his head. “I suppose not. But… surely a connection with your family is worthwhile.”
Harry clenched his jaw. “It’s better this way.”
He couldn’t understand Harry. Here was a once in a lifetime opportunity to connect with a family, a prominent one at that, and Harry wasn’t even trying. He was content to be an outsider. Why? How could Harry give it up?
Tom had resigned himself a decade ago to never having a family of his own, but deep down… If Tom had the chance to meet his family when he’d been younger, to be welcomed as a long lost son or cousin, he would have taken it in a heartbeat. He still craved that connection even now. Tom hungered to know his roots. He wanted to know of his mother, of his father, of their families, and beyond. But with a muggle last name, Tom didn’t have much to go on. He couldn’t be a muggleborn, not with the parselmouth ability, but he didn’t know his mother’s maiden name.
There was so much he didn’t know.
“You should,” said Tom softly. “They’re your family and you’re fond of the boy. He’s your blood. You’re missing out—”
“Blood isn’t everything,” whispered Harry. “Look, I love Monty, but… sometimes, the family you create is more important.” He glanced up at Tom, his green eyes shiny and bright. “Like the bonds you create with friends.” Harry swallowed and licked his lips. “Like… us.”
It sliced through Tom’s heart—stole his breath away. Oh. Was Harry saying their bond was more important than that of blood family? Oh. It was suddenly terribly warm. Tom cleared his throat, putting a hand to his mouth and turning his head away.
It was there again—that simmering, coiling heat that filled every corner of his body. He couldn’t hide from it. This… feeling, this… attraction, it was back again with a vengeance and there was no escaping it. Tom couldn’t hold back the smile, safety hidden beneath his hand.
Harry valued their friendship above blood.
“We’re really close friends now, right?” said Harry, his tone pitched a little higher. He rubbed the back of his neck as he kept his gaze downwards. “That’s something we’ve worked on together, right? I’m fine with how things are. People think that blood matters the most, but sometimes they’re the first to hate you and treat you like shit. But friends can be your family, too—they’re family you’ve chosen.”
The heat expanded to every extremity. Tom’s cheeks were on fire. He was burning up, too hot in this winter air. He wanted to be rid of his scarf, but he feared the flush of his skin would give him away.
Family you’ve chosen…
Have you chosen me, then, Harry?
Emotion bubbled up in his chest, threatening to escape his lips in a strange, undignified sound. Tom clamped his mouth shut and held it back. He trembled. The very idea of it brought him such an immense amount of pure happiness. Joy. He vibrated with it. How ridiculous. Why should such a thing make him so unreasonably happy? Control yourself. Of course Harry had chosen him, just as Tom had chosen him—they were friends.
He didn’t know how to respond. Tom opened his mouth, a sound in his throat, but no words came out.
“Tom! Harry!” cried Monty, waving from a distance. “Come on, hurry up! Wanna help us build a snowman?”
Harry laughed. “Coming!”
A hand grabbed his and tugged Tom forward. He blinked. He followed after Harry, meeting his quickened strides. A fog had settled over his thoughts and the only thing on his mind was the feel of Harry’s hand—and how it felt when it let Tom go.
As it always seemed whenever Tom was around Harry, he found himself caught up in the whirlwind of play. Monty and Cygnus wanted to build the biggest snowman they could, while Effie and Eileen wanted to build a home for the snowman to live in. Monty set Tom and Alphard to work, rolling up a giant pile of snow for the base of the snowman. Harry, Quintus, and Simon helped the girls with the walls.
Their focus didn’t last long.
Sebastian and Marcus had gotten distracted by their own project, which turned out to be a dumpy, funny looking dragon. Roland caught sight of it and snorted.
“What in Salazar’s saggy balls is that?”
“Roland, mind your language!” cried Quintus.
The children giggled.
Sebastian glared at Roland. He whipped out his wand and pointed it at him. A second later, a snowball smacked him in the face. Roland spluttered and wiped the snow away. Silence fell over the group.
Chaos exploded.
Snowman and his little cottage forgotten, the children cried in delight and started pelting the older boys with snowballs. It was madness. Snowballs flying. Laughter and shrieks assaulted the ears. Tom threw up a shield when a stray snowball nearly hit him in the ear. Alphard let out a playful bellow and grabbed Cygnus around the waist, yet again tossing him into a mound of snow. Quintus threw snow at Eileen, rather than snowballs, while Monty and Effie, partnered with Sebastian and Marcus in an unlikely alliance, attacked Roland and Simon with unrestrained glee.
Tom ignored the chaos. This was a bit too much for him now—
Icy wet cold burst across the back of Tom’s neck. He sucked in a gasp and whirled around, lips curled into a snarl and ready to curse the idiot who dared—
Harry smiled at him, three snowballs floating above his left hand. He gave Tom a little wave.
“Fancy a duel, Riddle?”
His heart fluttered. “Oh, it’s on, Evans.”
Harry laughed; it turned into a shriek when two snowballs sped after him.
And the game was on.
Pandemonium raged all around Tom, but he stuck to his target. Every time he managed to get Harry with a snowball, Harry would let out a laughing shriek. Tom craved its sound. Their fight was only a few minutes, yet he could’ve gone hours drawing out Harry’s laughter; he didn’t care how many times Harry got him back. The two of them fought with the skill of battle won duelists, but with the bite of flobberworms.
A stray snowball struck Harry’s shoulder.
Tom and Harry paused, glanced at each other, and smirked with matched mischief. They turned on the group and became an unbeatable united front.
It was over for the others.
In the end, the group of ten collapsed onto the ground in exhaustion with Tom and Harry standing victoriously over them. Tom huffed, brushing the snow off his shoulders and cloak. Most of the snow wall had been destroyed and only the base of the snowman had been built, making it look nothing more than a large, lumpy pile of snow.
Dark clouds slowly formed in the distance, far at the horizon, bright blue and dusty grey reflecting off the surface of the lake.
“Had enough, then?” asked Harry.
“Spare us,” said Roland, gasping for breath. “For the love of Merlin, please.”
“That was fun,” chirped Monty. “My pants are all wet and cold. Is that normal?”
“Monty, that isn’t a proper thing to say,” said Effie with a sniff. “You oughtn’t mention your undergarments around ladies.”
“Oh. I’m sorry. But they’re very unpleasant when they’re wet.”
Effie sighed. “It’s a good thing you have me for a friend or you’d be totally lost.”
“It’s normal,” said Cygnus. “I’m soaked all over and it’s freezing—and I think I’ve might’ve lost my scarf.”
“I’m cold, too,” said Eileen. “Quinnie, would you dry us off, please?”
Gentle crackles breathed across the lake.
The group rested on the ground after a round of drying and heating spells. Harry flopped onto his back beside Tom; his chest rose and fell in deep breaths. He let out a laugh. His cheeks were flushed dark, sweat and snow slipping down his temples. Harry sat up and ruffled the snow from his hair. Droplets slid down his neck, disappearing into the neckline of his sweater.
Tom couldn’t drag his eyes away.
“Blimey, that was the most fun I’ve had in ages,” said Roland. “You firsties are all right.”
Simon nodded. “You might make a good chaser next year, Potter.”
“Really?”
“Was a bit fun, I have to admit,” said Marcus in a low voice. “Don’t you think, Seb?”
“Tolerable at best.”
Puffs of smoke fluttered from Harry’s lips. Tom heard the murmur of voices, but he couldn’t hear their words. Harry caught his eyes and smiled at him, bright and vibrant as the noonday sun.
The chill was a contrast to the inferno. Tom’s breaths lit the air with heavier smoke. He tore his gaze away from Harry and looked out over the lake. Salazar, what is wrong with me? A winter storm must’ve been coming in; the dark clouds had grown much closer, overhead now, blocking out the light and warmth of the sun. The waters at edge of the lake went still with whispered crackles.
The cold grew bitter; it clawed its way up Tom’s throat and into his mind. Oppressive and cruel, it felt as if his fingers would break. He tucked them inside his cloak, but they wouldn’t grow warm. Twisted guilt and shame struck his gut. What have I been doing? Wasting time playing in the snow like a little kid? Pathetic. I should be studying or doing homework or anything else of value—
“We better get back inside before we catch our death of cold,” said Alphard, getting to his feet. He hoisted Quintus up. “It’s freezing without the sunlight now. Come on, playtime is over.”
There was a chorus of disappointment from the children.
A crack rippled through the air.
“What was that?” asked Roland.
Most of the group were standing now, cleaning off the last of the snow from their clothes. Tom brushed at his trousers, unable to shake the chill that was seeping deep into his very bones, despite the warming charms. Eileen fell against Quintus’ side, clutching at his cloak. She shivered. Effie huddled closer to Monty, eyes wide. The color drained from Cygnus’ face.
Alphard frowned and put a hand to his forehead. “Cygnus, are you all right?” he asked. “You look like you’re about to sick up.”
“Why’s it so cold?” asked Monty. “Why do I feel like crying?”
“What?” breathed Harry; he scrambled to his feet.
Quintus went white. He dropped to his knees, taking Eileen down with him, and doubled over into deep, gut wrenching sobs. Eileen clung to him with tears streaming down her cheeks.
“Quintus!” cried Alphard.
Marcus screamed. Sebastian caught him in his arms, gritting his teeth. He dropped to the ground with Marcus clutched tightly in an embrace. The screams didn’t stop. Alphard, looking ill, wrapped an arm around Quintus, drawing both him and Cygnus close to his sides. Quintus wept uncontrollably.
“What’s going on?” demanded Simon, his features twisted in a grimace. “Something’s very wrong.”
Roland shivered, pale as well. “We’ve got to get back to the castle.”
“Shit,” whispered Harry.
Despair slid through the cracks of his fortitude; memories bombarded Tom’s shields and shattered them apart as if they’d been made of brittle glass. The old memories flooded to the forefront his mind; they choked him.
‘You wicked, demonic child!’
Crack.
‘God doesn’t love little boys like you.’
Crack.
‘You’ll be sent to Hell if you don’t stop this nonsense of yours!’
Crack.
‘You ought to be more obedient, like Billy!’
Crack. Sobs.
Strength disappeared from his legs; Tom landed hard on his knees and collapsed back onto his heels. He lifted his head; tears froze upon his cheeks. Was it evening already? Why was it so dark? Tom tried to fight through the assault of the negative, awful memories that he’d long locked behind his mental shields. They shouldn’t be affecting him like this—he was stronger than this! Worthless muggles. They were nothing more than memories.
“Dementors,” said Harry, breathless. “Get to the castle—now!”
Simon scoped a shaking Effie into his arms and grabbed Monty by the wrist, who protested loudly, reaching for Harry. Roland bolted to Quintus’ side and picked Eileen up. Alphard dragged Quintus to his feet and struggled to pull both him and Cygnus towards the castle. With grim determination, Sebastian lifted Marcus up in his arms and slowly made his way with the rest of the group.
Harry bolted in the other direction, towards the thickest part of the darkness. Tom couldn’t feel his legs, couldn’t leave with the others—couldn’t tear his eyes off Harry. Get up! He staggered to his feet; he swayed. The darkness swirled in the sky, fluttering wildly, and descended like the funnel of a tornado. Harry brandished his wand.
And then, Tom could see.
Dementors. A hoard of dementors, hundreds of them, beyond anything Tom had ever known possible covered the entire sky. It’s not a storm. Individual dementors dove for Harry. Fear gripped Tom’s chest, overflowing all other feelings and chasing away the old memories. There’s too many of them—he can’t hold this many off.
The dementors swarmed Harry, dousing him in darkness.
Harry!
“Expecto Patronum!” roared Harry.
Light pulsed.
The dementors scattered. There was another deep reverberating beat, light piercing through the darkness. A gruff, delighted cackle echoed with each pulse of light. Wings burst out, long black tail flicking in the air. The magpie shot up through the pillar of dementors, scattering them, its wings bursting out above and sending down sparkles of brilliant iridescent light.
Harry faltered.
The brilliance of the magpie patronus faded. With a furious cry, it died out.
Harry collapsed.
“Harry!” screamed Tom; he tore into a run. The dementors quickly recovered and dove for Harry. Tom threw himself over Harry’s hunched form, just as a dementor swooped over them. Tom shuddered, the despair growing stronger, more awful memories slamming into his mind with renewed vigor. Harry lifted up, resting a hand on Tom’s chest.
“Expecto Patronum,” gasped Harry. The tip of his wand glowed, mist spraying out feebly. “Fuck,” he breathed. “Expecto Patronum.”
It didn’t work.
“Dammit!” snapped Harry.
Tom gripped him tightly, clinging to his warmth. “Harry—we have to—to run—”
Those eyes met his; they gleamed in agony.
“Tom,” breathed Harry.
Tears slipped down his cheeks as droplets of ice. The presence of the dementors bore down on them, suffocating everything. Tom stared into Harry’s eyes; the barriers broke and, his own shields weakened, Tom couldn’t stop himself from falling inside Harry’s mind. The memories exploded, tearing through his own.
Screaming. Screaming.
‘Stand aside, silly girl.’
The red haired woman with familiar green eyes desperately shook her head, using her body to shield a crib, which held a young child with those same green eyes. Long pale fingers delicately wielded a white wand with a hilt curved into a vicious fanged, hooked bone; it slowly lifted.
‘Not Harry, please!’
The memory disappeared and morphed into another. The darkness of the forest was oppressive, obscuring numerous robed figures. Tom choked on the scent of cloying death and molding earth.
‘Harry Potter.’
A cold, high pitch voice cut through the stillness. Tom looked into the red serpentine eyes of a monster. Its lips twisted in a cruel smile.
‘Come to die.’
The connection broke in a flash of green light. Tom doubled over, dry heaving; Harry swore in the mix of his sobs. His flesh grew icy beneath Tom’s touch. Tom’s stomach lurched and churned with nausea. Something cold, something rotten brushed beneath Tom’s chin and, ever so gently, with the touch of a loving mother, skeleton fingers coaxed his head upwards.
Tom stared into the parted, hollowed lips of an omen of Death.
“No,” rasped Harry. “Don’t you fucking dare—”
Three dementors flew near his face and sucked in deep; three more followed. Harry choked off and his eyes went glassy, slumping backwards. His mouth slowly parted open and light glowed in his throat. His scar turned black; ink poured through the veins in his face and spread outwards down his neck. His eyes wept black liquid; they dripped down his cheeks. A small, ethereal glowing orb, swirling bright with a red fraying thread tinged of gold, pulsed at the back of Harry’s throat.
Tom’s heart went cold.
His soul—it’s—
A terrible crack echoed. The dementors devolved into an excited murmur, swooping around them in their frenzy. Shadows expanded around Harry’s form, the air turning thick and heavy. The shadows grew; they rippled with a life of their own. Harry wrenched himself up, his glasses falling onto the trampled snow. Gone were his brilliant green eyes and in their place were endless white. There was a click of the tongue.
“A second time, really, Master? My sister’s warning falls on stone ears.”
Tom stopped breathing.
Harry’s unnaturally wide mouth didn’t move with the voice—that terrible voice which reverberated with the pureness of the darkness. The glow in his throat flickered. Harry’s hand lifted and caressed the decaying chin of a nearby dementor.
“My foolish children, must you cling so? You interfere with affairs you comprehend not.”
Though he couldn’t understand any of the words, that voice gripped Tom’s soul with an unrelenting vice. That voice was to be feared—more than the impending soulless death the dementors would give them. The chill of that voice was greater than the bitterness of despair from a dementor’s touch. It inserted the dread which comes with the inevitability of facing one’s fragile mortality.
Tom shivered; he grew lightheaded.
“Unhand the boy and leave my vessel in peace. Return to your dwelling place.”
The dementors drew ever closer; the fingers beneath Tom’s chin lifted his head higher and the dementor leaned in for the final kiss.
“Troublesome children. You dare defy me? He is not ready—”
A crack rippled through the air once more. Harry sucked in a gasp; his soul disappeared down his throat. Frantic, the dementors swarmed around them, but the touch never left Tom’s chin and the dementor seeking its affection drew nearer; cloaks whipped at Tom’s cheeks. Harry wheezed for barely a second, before he turned his head; the evidence of black tears and inky veins had disappeared. His green eyes widened.
Harry snarled. “Don’t you fucking touch him, you bastard! Expecto Patronum!”
Light pulsed.
The claw at Tom’s chin recoiled. With a cackle, the magpie burst from Harry’s wand, blindingly bright and brilliant. The dementors scattered and the darkness around them lifted in an instant.
“Get them!” shouted Harry.
The magpie shrieked in fury, diving at the dementors. It got one in its beak, ripping through frayed cloak. The dementor screamed. The magpie dive bombed another and tore through it. Tattered cloaks fluttered to the snow and faded away into black mist.
Harry doubled over, gasping, droplets of ice slipping down his cheeks, but he held fast onto his wand. Tom wrapped his arms around Harry’s shoulders and drew him close, with Harry leaning against his chest. The exhaustion allowed for little else. The magpie ripped through three more dementors, but the hoard was endless and pressed closer. Pushed back, the magpie hovered above Tom and Harry, its wings outstretched in protection, screeching its rage.
But it wasn’t enough.
The dementors were relentless. Tom sagged backwards, vision wavering, but he clutched Harry tight. Consciousness slowly faded from Tom’s control and Harry’s wand slipped from his weakened grasp. The magpie dimmed.
“No,” breathed Harry.
The light snuffed out.
Darkness descended.
And despair fell.
Three lights burst through the darkness. A phoenix and a thunderbird screamed their reproach, while a gentle niffler scampered around Tom and Harry. The pleasant, comforting warmth of its familiar light embraced Tom—but, as he blacked out, it couldn’t protect him from the nightmarish chill of memories not his own.
‘Harry Potter.’
That cold, high pitch monstrous voice echoed in his mind.
‘Come to die.’