Killing Me Softly

Mai

Story Summary:
What if Harry was too late in saving Ginny from the Chamber of Secrets? How will this affect the course of history and the relationship between the Boy Who Lived and the young future Dark Lord?

Chapter 06

Posted:
09/19/2006
Hits:
4,357
Author's Note:
Many thanks to my wonderful beta Mortalus. I could not have done it without you. :)

Chapter Six
The Product of Illusion

"You waste your time with hate and regret
You're broken
When your heart's not open"

- "Frozen" by Madonna

*****


Tom and Harry stared at each other, not moving for what seemed like hours. Harry was the first to speak.

"Tom, don't -"

"Crucio!" Tom shrieked as he waved his wand frantically. Harry dodged the spell, but that did not discourage Tom. "Impedimenta!" Harry dodged again, but he couldn't keep evading Tom's spells forever.

Taking a huge risk, he swiftly leapt across the bed. Harry kicked Tom hard on the stomach before he could respond. Tom soared backwards towards the wall, and Harry took that moment to seize the arm that held the wand. He pulled it away from Tom's body and held it against the wall just as Tom screamed, "Obliviate!" The spell scarred the wall to Harry's left.

"You're not going to erase my memory of that dream!" Harry yelled, holding the arm in place and moving closer towards Tom so that he couldn't kick Harry. "Even if you did, I might have the same dream some time in the future!"

"Then I'll hack your brain out from your skull!" Tom screamed while he struggled against Harry's grip on his wand. His free hand grabbed Harry's shoulders, but Harry couldn't push him away. All his energy was spent on keeping the wand arm against the wall.

"How will that stop the visions? You know that I cannot be killed!"

Tom grabbed Harry's neck with his free hand and squeezed hard. He pounded his feet hard against Harry's shins. Harry fought against the suffocating grip. He kicked his knee upwards. A shout followed, and Tom released him.

He staggered a foot away and saw that he had kicked Tom between the legs. Harry took the opportunity to pry the wand from Tom's hand. Tom recovered from the blow and lunged at Harry.

They collided, but they did not let the pain stop them. Harry pushed Tom off him. They wrestled for the wand, and in the effort, they toppled to the floor. The wand flew out of their reach. Tom made for the wand, but Harry seized his arm. He shifted to get on top of Tom, and he forced Tom to lie on his stomach. He pulled Tom's arms backwards.

Harry held Tom's wrists against his back. Tom was too strong and could break away from Harry's hands at any moment, so Harry left Tom's hands and wrapped his arms tightly around him, crushing his upper arms to his side. His legs snaked around Tom's upper legs and squeezed them together. He threw his head down against Tom's shoulders.

Tom had trouble moving; his hands and lower arms were crushed by Harry's torso, and he couldn't move his legs. All he could do was angrily scrape against Harry's stomach with sharp fingernails. Harry grunted in pain, but he held on tightly.

The wand lay a couple of feet from the two boys. They both eyed it.

What was the spell Tom used to summon the wand? Harry wondered. Amio? Oclio? No, that wasn't right...

They stayed in this position. Tom continued to fight, but the intensity of his struggle was gradually lessening as he tired. Tom was losing circulation in his arms and hands, but Harry was not going to loosen his hold on him. Tom rested his head sideways on the floor. Harry raised his head and stared at him, watching him as his eyes went back to being dark. He was staring into space, and his face had an odd expression, a faraway look. His lower lip was trembling slightly every now and then. Harry had a feeling his lips were not trembling because of anger. The dream had shaken Tom.

"Was this the first time you ever saw your mother?" Harry finally spoke.

"She didn't have a photo album with her," Tom responded bitterly. "I never knew how she looked until now."

"She seemed like a nice person."

"She's a horrible person!" Tom screamed shrilly with near-insanity in his eyes. His eyes ignited bright red. The look drove Harry's heart up to his throat, pounding painfully. Tom began thrashing underneath Harry again. "She left me with those filthy Muggles!"

"You saw how she looked! Giving birth to you took all of her energy!" Harry screamed as he struggled to keep Tom pinned to the floor. His voice was surely cracking with terror. If Tom slipped out from his grip, he was certainly going to rip Harry to shreds.

"Are you suggesting that I killed my mother – that I deserved the childhood I had?"

"No! It was just bad timing. It was New Year's Eve, Mrs. Cole was getting drunk, and..." Tom stiffened in Harry's arms.

"Bad timing, was it?" he hissed in an oddly sardonic voice. His eyes narrowed, and his voice lowered to barely a whisper. "I came at a bad time. I was not needed, uninvited." Harry had an uneasy feeling that at that moment, Tom was only speaking to himself.

"That's not what I meant!" Harry said quickly, shaken by Tom's behavior. He's crazy! "It was not your fault. It was nobody's fault. Everything just...sort of worked against you. I'm sorry."

Tom snapped out from the momentary daze he was in. "What for?" he asked crossly. Tom raised his head just a fraction of an inch although he couldn't see Harry.

"You had a terrible first impression of the world," Harry explained as calmly as he could. "How was the rest of your childhood?"

"You saw what my childhood was like!"

Harry was curious about one thing, and he had to get the answer from Tom. "There was a dream where you were peering out a window. Were you looking for someone?"

Tom didn't reply. He lay still in Harry's arms. Harry relaxed slightly.

"You were watching a man, and when that man passed the orphanage, you were disappointed," Harry said, eyeing Tom closely. "Were you hoping that man was your father coming to take you?"

Again, Tom didn't reply.

"I thought you hated him, based on how you spoke about him in the Chamber," Harry went on, "but there's no other explanation for who you were hoping that man could be. Did you used to like your father?"

"I hate my damn father!" Tom shrieked, and he began to violently struggle against Harry again. "I hate him! I hate him! I never loved him!"

"And your mother?"

"I hate my mother as well!"

"Why?"

"WHY?" Harry's ears were going to burst from being so close to the shrieks. "Why? I met my father the summer before I entered the diary. I pulled out information from him, about my mother, about their time together. He never loved her! She slipped a love potion into his drink, and for a couple of months, he was under an enchantment! He finally broke out of the spell after my mother got pregnant. He left her, left her homeless on the streets! It served her right, the slut!" Harry wasn't sure what to say. He noticed that Tom's lips quivered slightly as he spoke. Something was happening to him...

"But...your mother loved your father. And she loved you."

"No, she didn't love me! All the time she was with him, she thought only of him!"

"But, that doesn't mean she doesn't love you."

"You don't get it, do you?" Tom hissed. "When they conceived me, there was none of this silly love between them! My mother had an obsession with my father. My father was under a spell. They're love was an illusion. I was the product of illusion! I was never created from love! I was never loved!"

Harry's chest tightened; he could only imagine how miserable he would feel if he found out his parents never conceived him out of love...Harry's arms slowly molded into a tight hug around Tom. "You weren't unloved," Harry said sadly.

"I don't believe you," Tom spat. Harry caught a faint trace of sadness in his voice. "Even when she gave birth to me, she still thought of him!"

"How do you know that?" Harry asked curiously. He knew that this was going to set Tom off again, so he tightened his grip on him. Sure enough, Tom went berserk at the question.

"My name, you idiot!" Tom began screaming again. His eyes ignited bright red. Harry held on tight as Tom thrashed again underneath him. "She gave me his filthy name!"

Harry didn't see why that was a problem. "Maybe she liked the name Tom," he suggested.

Tom shrieked. "No! She was thinking of him! Look at where her obsession led her! She never cared about me! It was only thoughts of him that occupied her idiotic mind!"

Harry mulled over the scene of Tom's birth in his head, recalling all he can about Merope. "Well...I think you're wrong, Tom. I think your mother did love you," he finally said as calmly as he could.

Tom stopped trashing. "How?" he said angrily.

"If she really didn't like you and didn't want you, she could have easily killed you before you were born," Harry explained. "She could have saved herself the trouble of having you, but she didn't. She went through all that torment just to give birth to you. She found an orphanage to put you in, so she must have known that she was going to die; she wanted you to be taken care of. She even went out of her way to give you a full name that connected you to your ancestors. What kind of a parent would name a child they hate and was trying to get rid of? She wasn't going to be there for you, so she gave you a name in which you can one day research and reconnect with your family. Doesn't that mean anything to you?"

"No!" Tom said hotly. "That proves nothing! She never felt anything for me!" There was tightness in his voice that betrayed him. It puzzled Harry at first; it sounded as though Tom was hurt...

Harry raised his eyebrows. "You love your mother!" he blurted out.

He felt Tom stiffen again in his arms. "I...don't...love...my...mother!" Tom hissed dangerously.

"Yes you do!" Harry argued. "You deny it, but the love is there."

"I don't love her!" Tom insisted.

"Then why else did you kill your father?" Harry challenged.

"Because he left my mother after finding out she was a witch! He abandoned us!" Tom yelled.

"There you have it," Harry said, feeling triumphant. "You do love your mother. Your love for her makes you sad when you think of what your father did to her."

"That's not true!"

"I think you loved your father at one point too."

Tom's eyes widened. "You're out of your mind! I never loved my father! I would never care for someone who abandoned me!"

"Really? Then why did you feel disappointed in that dream where the man you were watching passed the orphanage?"

"I wanted someone to take me out of that horrible place!" Tom retorted.

"And you were hoping that man was your father."

"I never said that!"

Harry was not going to let Tom go easily. "Okay, so you don't like your father. But why did you make a new name for yourself that used all the words in your birth name? If you really wanted to cut ties with your father, you would have come up with a brand new name. A part of you still wants to connect with your past, doesn't it?"

Tom's mouth fell. "That's the stupidest thing I ever heard! I don't want to connect with my father!"

"Then why not make a new name? Why did you use your old name?"

Tom didn't respond. His mouth kept opening and closing, unable to find a suitable answer.

"I think a part of you deep down inside doesn't want to let go," Harry said, smiling.

"You're saying my action was subconscious?" Tom said, startled at himself.

"Yes," Harry said simply.

Tom continued to stare into space, looking shocked, before he shook his head vigorously. "No! That isn't true! I don't love my father! I hate him!" He began trashing violently under Harry again. His eyes grew unfocused and mad; the sight made Harry's heart plummet. Tom wasn't in his right mind anymore; his words switched unpredictably between English and Parseltongue. Harry wanted to get away from the madman, but he didn't want to know what Tom would do to him if Harry let go. "I hate him! I hate him! I hate him! Filthy Muggle disowned me! Filthy Muggle left me to die! I killed him, the scum bastard! He deserved it! He deserved the death I gave him!"

"I understand how you feel," Harry said, desperate to calm Tom down. It was becoming hard to hold him down. "I would have been angry, too, but I never would have killed my own father."

Tom's thrashing lessened to just a few irritable twitches and jerks. "Even if he was a filthy Muggle?" he asked Harry in Parseltongue.

"What is it with you?" Harry replied. "You got your immortality! You achieved the one thing many wizards and Muggles alike have always dreamed of! Why do you still want to hurt people? Why are you so against Muggles?"

He immediately regretted his question. It ignited something within Tom that made him finally break free from Harry's hold. Tom screamed and jumped up; Harry fell off Tom's back and collided on the floor. Tom shook his arms to get the blood back into his circulation. Before Harry could escape, Tom grabbed his wand and bodily attacked Harry. He pressed Harry down on the floor, crushing Harry painfully down by pressing his knee on Harry's abdomen. His free hand wrapped around Harry's throat.

"Why am I so against Muggles?" Tom repeated venomously. He pointed his wand between Harry's eyes. "Have you ever read history books? Ever heard of witch burnings? For many years we were oppressed! Our kind had to take extreme measures to ensure that Muggles would never know of our existence and of our world! We had to hide from them because their narrow minds cannot accept us!

"And look at what this earth has gone through in the past fifty years alone: The Cold War! The Vietnam War! The Korean War! The destruction of the Middle East! The Gulf War! The list goes on and on. And that's not all...there is this little Muggle invention called the nuclear bomb that has the power to destroy this entire planet. This world we wizards have spent centuries thriving on is in danger!

"And for what? Muggles not only cannot handle witches and wizards, they also cannot handle living with each other! What kind of immortal life will I be living with these fools continually jeopardizing my world, slowly edging this planet into a nuclear winter that will destroy all the magical herbs, plants, and animals that we wizards so painstaking have taken care of all these years!" Tom sneered demonically, and he gave Harry's neck a little squeeze. "Oh no. I will not allow them to get away! They must be all eliminated! Every one of them!"

Harry struggled against Tom's hand so he could breathe.

"So your solution is to just destroy everyone," Harry said desperately. "That's no different from what those Muggles are doing."

Tom just stared at Harry. Harry smirked. "That's what you're turning into," he continued. "Magical abilities aside, you're nothing more than a stupid, filthy Muggle. You're no better than them."

Tom continued to stare at Harry. His fingers tightened around the wand; Harry's eyes determinedly didn't leave Tom's. They held the stare for several minutes.

Finally, Tom moved. His free hand let go of Harry's neck. At first Harry thought Tom was going to curse him, but instead Tom just struck Harry across the face with his hand. Tom swiftly rose to his feet and dashed out the door.

"Tom!" Harry called out. He got up and ran, but he was knocked backwards by the invisible ward. He heard the front door slam, leaving behind a ringing silence.

Harry rubbed his ears and the spot on his abdomen where Tom's knee had been. He got back up. He was slowly becoming aware of how much his legs trembled. Considering how enraged Tom had been, Harry was lucky to only have a reddened cheek. He flopped down on the bed.

What a madman, Harry thought as his heart's beat steadied. He needs to be in a mental hospital, at the least.

Faint light was seeping into the room; it was early morning, but Harry couldn't go back to sleep. His mind kept replaying Tom's birth over and over in his mind. He could almost see the newborn in front of him, crying to be fed...

Their love was an illusion. I was the product of illusion! I was never created from love! I was never loved! Tom's words rang out in Harry's mind. Harry shook his head, remembering Merope stretching out her hand. No, you were loved Tom. Your mother loved you; why can't you see that? Are you denying it because you don't want to feel the pain?

Harry stayed in bed although he couldn't sleep. The morning sun lit the room, but Tom did not return at the usual time with breakfast. Harry didn't move from his place. He didn't have the energy to go under the bed to fetch the book he used to record all of his visions of Tom. He doubted this dream would ever leave him. He thought of all the other visions he had had of Tom. His mind replayed every event he knew of Tom's life. Was it just Harry's imagination, or had Tom slowly lost the light in his eyes over the years?

Hours passed, and still there was no sign of Tom. By early afternoon Harry dozed off but was soon jerked awake by the loud cawing of a raven nearby. He listened intently for any sign of Tom in the house, but he couldn't hear any creaks or taps on the floor. Where was Tom?

Please don't let him have murdered anyone, Harry prayed.

Night fell, and Harry found himself sitting up on the bed, hungry, watching the doorway and expecting Tom to enter at any moment. When Tom didn't come, Harry slipped under the covers, trying not to make a lot of noise. It didn't feel right to make a sound in the large, empty manor. It was too quiet. Somehow when Tom was around at night, there seemed to be a little more life in the grim manor.

This was going to be the first night Harry slept alone in the old manor. Harry gave the doorway one last look before turning around on his stomach and burying his face on the pillow.

Harry fell asleep instantly, and when he awoke it was mid-morning. He listened for any sounds of Tom. Nothing. His stomach grumbled.

He climbed out of bed and ran to the doorway.

"Tom!" Harry called out. "Tom, are you around?" No reply. "Where are you?" Harry yelled desperately. Don't let him have murdered anyone, please! Harry prayed again as he edged back to the bed. He imagined an elderly Mrs. Cole being choked to death by Tom. He tried to shake the image away.

The rest of the day was uneventful; Harry did nothing but lay in bed feeling hungry. He found a box in the closet which he used to relief himself since he couldn't leave the room; he hid the box deep enough in the closet so that he wouldn't smell anything.

It was late afternoon when Harry suddenly heard the front door slam. He sat up.

Tom finally appeared. He stood in the doorway, and the two boys' eyes locked for several seconds, Harry half-expecting to be cursed at any moment. Tom broke the contact and approached. He sat on the bed, right across from Harry. His shoulders were drooped and there were dark shadows under his eyes. He was tired, but his eyes were burning a little angrily. One of his hands clutched a brown paper bag. Harry could smell food, although he couldn't identify what kind it was. It had to be something out of the ordinary or exotic; over the weeks Harry had learned that Tom enjoyed trying out new dishes.

"What is it all about?" Tom demanded, frustrated. Harry stared at him.

"What's what all about?" Harry asked.

"Love!" Tom yelled, looking a little irritable.

"What about it?"

"What's so great about it? I passed a lot of Muggle towns the past two days, and I overheard a lot of songs about love. 'All you need is love,' or 'don't you want somebody to love?' You'd think that people would have had enough of silly love songs! Muggles are obsessed with it! So is Dumbledore. But what makes it so great if pain is felt? If it is love that I for my mother, then why does it hurt?"

Those words affected Harry, but he tried to answer Tom's question as best he could. "Well, love can be complicated, I think. Sometimes it makes us sad, but usually love makes us happy."

"I was happy when I killed my father. Was I feeling love at that moment?"

"No," Harry said, grimacing. "You were being sadistic."

Tom ignored the comment. "I went researching in a Muggle library to see if I could find any scientific explanation of love. One of the books I found was by some idiot named Sigmund Freud. He claimed that my greatest desire is to kill my father and have intercourse with my mother. The former was correct, but I don't...I wouldn't..." Tom stared at Harry with tired, searching eyes. "Do you think I have burning passion for my mother?"

One corner of Harry's mouth twitched. "No, I don't think you do. There are many kinds of love."

"Really?" Tom said incredulously, one eyebrow raised.

"Yeah," Harry said. "I love my friends, but it's different than how my dad loved my mom. I love Quidditch, but it's different from how I love my friends."

"How?"

"I don't know," Harry said. "It's just different."

"Do you ever feel pain when you think of Quidditch?"

"No."

"What about your friends?"

"Sometimes. I miss them right now. Last summer I thought they had forgotten about me because I didn't get any letters from them, and I felt sad. But I feel happy when I think about them sometimes. I think about days when we had good times together." Harry smiled, but the contemplative frown on Tom's face diminished it. Harry suddenly wished he hadn't said anything.

"So because I never had a good moment with my mother, I will never be happy whenever I think of her?" Tom asked after thinking over Harry's words.

"Not really..." Harry said hesitantly. "You can always think of the love she had for you. I don't remember my parents, but I sometimes feel happy when I think of them."

"That's because your parents held you!" Tom suddenly screamed. "Is that what makes us different from each other? Your parents touched you, but my mother never touched me! Is that what makes me so incapable of understanding this outrageous phenomenon?" His eyes widened. He had just let something slip.

"The memory of your mother is really affecting you," Harry said. "And you saw the part where she failed to touch you. It was out of her control, Tom. She was dying. If she had more energy, I'm sure she would have held you in her arms."

"Stop," Tom hissed harshly. His body was trembling slightly, and his eyes began to burn red again.

"I'm sorry," Harry said earnestly, hoping that Tom doesn't go insane again. They stayed silent for a while. Tom was trying to regain control, although it was difficult due to how fatigued his body was.

"I don't believe in love," Tom finally spoke. "I see no logic in it. I couldn't find any scientific reasoning for it except for what Freud and others have said, and I do not believe a single word of it." He grumbled under his breath. "Sleep with my mother...what is next? Kiss a pear tree?"

"I guess love is something science can't explain," Harry said, trying not to laugh. "If it was something everyone understood, then we won't have so many long love poems out there."

"Or silly love songs," Tom added. He snorted. "Love is supposed to make you happy and strong, but all I ever saw of it was misery and weakness."

"Weakness?" Harry said, bewildered. "If love is a weakness, then how would you describe my mother? Her love for me nearly destroyed your future self, the greatest Dark wizard of modern times! Some weakness that is!"

"Your mother was weak," Tom insisted. "She let her emotions get herself killed for a person she only knew for a year."

"My mum was strong!" Harry argued. "It must have taken a lot of courage to stand up to a murderer! And your mother was strong too. Imagine being in her place. Would you have gone through pregnancy out in the cold homeless for months?"

"I would never be in her place because I would never kill myself over someone!" Tom said angrily.

"Perhaps," Harry responded. "Still, it must have taken her a lot of strength to go through it. Her love for you made her strong."

"And her love for my father made her weak," Tom added.

"I'm not going to defend your father," Harry said. "What he did was wrong. However, you shouldn't have killed him."

"What do you suggest I should have done?" Tom asked, frustrated.

"Ignore him," Harry said. "It would have been better to succeed in your life. Then if your father ever saw you, he would see a man who became very accomplished, and he would feel bad for neglecting you. You just don't go around killing anyone who hurts you. I would never kill the Dursleys."

"Even though they never showed any affection for you?" Tom stared at Harry, a little disbelieving.

"Never. It's called restraint, and that, too, is a sign of having strength." Harry felt proud of what he just said. Tom just stared at him.

"Are you saying that I am weak?" he questioned, his narrowed eyes never leaving Harry.

Harry weighed his words carefully. "You are strong in many ways," he said, "but you do have a weakness. You said you would never kill yourself over someone, but you already have. You let your anger at your father and your hatred of your life in the orphanage control your actions. You could have had a better life. You're not lacking anything. You had a choice, Tom, and you didn't make the right decision.

"You're very intelligent. You were Prefect and Head Boy. From what I've seen of the students in your time, they were generally more studious than my classmates. You were up against a lot of smart people, many who had more magical background than you did, and you got the badge and awards. That's a huge accomplishment. You could have gotten any job you wanted with your grades.

"And you're very handsome. You could have married and had lots of kids if you wanted; you would have been surrounded by a lot of people that loved you. Instead, what did you do? You allowed your father to control your anger. You became obsessed with seeking immortality. Well, you got your immortality, but don't you ever miss the life you used to have? Don't you ever feel awkward in this new world?

"A lot has changed since you entered the diary, and you didn't have the time to adjust to the changes. And your friends...did you have any friends? All of them are going to eventually die. Everyone you know is going to be gone in the future. Don't you think it's better to die as well than to be trapped in a world where you will be all alone? Sure, I'll be around, but I doubt you will have me in one piece for very long."

Harry sighed. "Look at where all of this has landed you. The last time I saw your future self, you were weak and ugly. You were attached to the back of a teacher's head. You didn't have a complete body anymore. What kind of future is that? You ruined yourself!"

Tom deeply contemplated Harry's words for a long time. His eyes were focused on a space beyond the bed. Harry watched him, hoping that Tom would start to understand.

"I didn't want to leave Hogwarts," he finally said in a low voice. The comment was more to himself but Harry caught it.

"You liked Hogwarts?" he said. "I understand how you feel. Do you want to go back, become a student, graduate, and find a job?" His eyes widened as an idea came to him. "There's still time for you, Tom! Your older self made a huge mistake, but you can correct it! There's still a chance for you!"

Tom just stared at Harry, looking more tired and irritable than before. "Go back to Hogwarts? With those idiots you call classmates?" he said. "I know more magic than any of them!"

"Then what would you rather do?" Harry asked. "Would you like to be a teacher?"

"No, dummy. It's my greatest ambition to be the caretaker," Tom replied sarcastically. His eyes glassed over for a second. He rubbed his eyes. "My favorite subject was Defense Against the Dark Arts," he said after a while.

"I had two teachers for Defense Against the Dark Arts," Harry said, "and they were terrible. And I was looking forward to the subject. Too bad..." Harry gave a little laugh. "Professor Riddle! You would have made a great teacher, even if you were a little mental."

Tom continued to look at him blankly. Harry gave Tom a little smile. At that moment, Harry's stomach grumbled loudly, gaining Tom's attention.

"Here," Tom said as he handed Harry the bag.

Did he save this for me? Harry wondered as he pulled out something he has never eaten before. He bite into the crispy coating and tasted the soft, spicy center. "It's a falafel," Tom explained.

"Thanks," Harry said between chews. "Where did you get it?"

"A Middle Eastern restaurant in another Muggle town," Tom answered.

"Another town? What did you do all this time?"

"I walked."

"That's it?" Harry stuffed pita bread into his mouth in hopes of rubbing out the spicy taste. "You didn't...hurt anyone?" he asked after swallowing.

"I didn't kill anyone, little Potter. If you truly want to know, all I did was contemplate."

"Contemplate what?"

"Everything."

Harry watched Tom closely. "Did you sleep at all?" he asked.

"Does it look like I did?" Tom laughed lightly. He leaned a little to his right and almost collapsed off the bed. Harry took hold of him.

"You need rest," Harry said. "Here, come sleep." He pulled the covers aside from where Tom usually slept. Tom, however, got up and went for the door. "Come back!" Harry called out, but Tom ignored him. "Can you at least allow me to go to the bathroom?"

Tom complied without a word.

"Thanks," Harry called out, suddenly feeling a little lonely.

Harry put the bag aside and jumped off the bed. He took the box out of the closet so he could dispose of it. As he made his way to the bathroom, he thought about his recent conversation with Tom.

He really doesn't understand love at all, Harry thought. He says he doesn't love his mother and father, but I think there's something inside him that is still connected to them. This thing...this capability to feel love...it's faint and tiny inside him, but it's still in there. He doesn't notice it.

If I can just take that tiny piece of love in him and make it grow...of course, I cannot completely change him, but it would be better for everyone, including Tom, if he understood love. He doesn't realize how much he has hurt himself. Teaching him love could make him respect himself more. Maybe I can help him. If he just listens to me, I can teach him about love...

***

Tom made his way to the library. His head pounded painfully from lack of sleep, and there was an annoying throbbing behind his left eye.

A stack of parchments lay in front of the sofa chair Tom rested on. Tom took one glance at them, groaned, and shoved them aside. He didn't want to see those parchments on which he made plans for what he and his older self were going to do once they united. He didn't want to think about finding his older self. He just wanted the mental image of his mother to leave his mind.

But she wouldn't disappear. Tom rested across the sofa chair and closed his eyes. Over and over Tom saw his mother in front of him. She would raise her hand to touch him, but every time she was an inch away from him, that emaciated hand would fall away. Tom stretched out his hand absentmindedly, wanting to be touched by her. He couldn't erase the image of her face no matter how much he tried. She was embedded in his mind, constantly dying in front of him.

Leave me alone! I don't love you! Tom yelled angrily at his mother.

Then why did you make a new name for yourself that used all the words in your birth name? Harry's question came back to him.

I don't know, Tom thought angrily. For the first time in his life, he couldn't answer a question. He remembered the night he fashioned his new name; it was on his first night at Hogwarts. His excitement at being in a special place had inspired him to make a new name as special as the castle he lived in. While his other dormmates had slept, Tom had stayed up and written his name on one of his notebooks. Then, slowly, he had played around with the letters until he found the perfect name.

Why couldn't he have used a completely different name? It just seemed natural to use his birth name, as much as he hated it.

It doesn't mean I want to stay connected to my family! Tom thought desperately.

Tom curled on the couch, hoping he can fall asleep instantly. Instead, he remembered the time he had seen a dead infant outside the orphanage. It was the summer after his third year. One morning he woke up to the sounds of a caretaker screaming. She had gone outside to throw out her garbage, and in the trash can she had found it. The newborn had been bloody from head to toe, and its umbilical cord had still been attached. There had been no sign of the mother anywhere. Tom had gotten a chance to glimpse the baby before it was taken away. The image never left his mind.

I could have been that child, he thought a little fearfully. My mother could have just disposed of me, but she didn't. She could have saved herself and killed me, but she let me live. Is that what love is? Letting others live? He shook his head. I cannot understand it! It's completely illogical! How can love be beneficial for one being and fatal to another? If love can harm, why do people bother with it?

"I hope he looks like his papa," his mother's voice rang out in his head. Her eyes bore into his happily. Tom let out a little scream.

"Get out! Get out of my mind! Please!" he pleaded. One hand pounded on his skull a couple of times. He ran his fingernails down his face, scratching his cheek. "I hate you!"

Opposite of Tom, on the library wall, the two figures in the painting watched Tom.

"What has gotten into him?" Aderyn asked her husband. Grindelwald shrugged. "Are you all right, boy?" she called out, but Tom didn't respond. He was busy trashing about and scratching himself violently. Aderyn giggled. "Oh, he has lost his mind, he has!" she said gleefully.

She sang out lullabies in the most mocking and cruel voice she can muster. She didn't leave Tom alone for hours. It wasn't until Grindelwald began criticizing her for her taste in picture frames that she got angry and stormed out of the painting, finally bringing peace back to the library.

Tom didn't thank Grindelwald, but the older wizard didn't seem to mind. He resumed his previous activity of staring out the painting stoically.

Tom didn't leave the library for a few days. He mostly slept, and when he was awake, he couldn't shake his mother off his mind. Reading a book did nothing to distract him. Tom didn't even look at the parchments with his plans. He had almost forgotten about his work.

One night he dreamt he was a baby held by a pretty witch. She lay across a big bed, and she held him high over her head.

"How's my little baby?" she cooed at him. "Are you happy, Harry? Yes, you are! Happy Harry!" She giggled and smiled cheerfully at Tom, her green eyes sparkling.

Tom woke up shaking. Why did he have to see that vision? Damn Harry and his happy infanthood! Tom tried to stop his imagination from taking over, but it was too late. Harry's mother morphed into his own mother. Merope smiled at him as she played with him. Tom jolted up in the sofa chair. He was having trouble breathing. Something was about to erupt from inside him. Again and again his mother smiled at him, holding him up above her head. Why couldn't that have been me? Tom thought angrily. Why couldn't I have been with my mother for at least one year? His hand traveled up to his neck, brushing against the rosary he had worn since as long as he can remember. His fingers tightened around the cross. Why? he mentally screamed. Why was I given this life! Why couldn't I have been held by my mother? In his mind, his mother cooed softly to him.

He threw himself hard on the sofa chair. A few dry sobs erupted.

"Mother..." Tom moaned softly. "He abandoned us, Mother...you abandoned me..." The pain was too much to handle; the tears began to roll down, and Tom tugged at his hair. He wanted the pain to stop. If this was how love was going to feel every time he thought of his mother, then he never wanted to feel love. What was so great about it? He had to stop these agonizing emotions, but he couldn't. They had taken hold of him, refusing to let go no matter what he did.

Fortunately, Grindelwald didn't ask any questions. He left Tom alone with his conflicting thoughts and emotions.

The next morning, Harry knocked on the library door. Tom stayed silent and didn't move an inch.

"Are you in there, Tom?" Harry asked, sounding a little worried.

Of course, Tom thought grumpily. Harry also had the dream of his mother.

"Are you all right? I hope you are."

Get out of here! he mentally yelled at Harry.

"Are you hungry? Sorry I can’t make you anything. I can’t get into the kitchen."

Go away!

"I'm not sure what else to say," Harry said after a while. "I'm not good at comforting people. If you want to talk, I'll be around. I mean, where else would I be?" There were a few moments of silence, and then, "I don't know what else to say. You've murdered a lot of people, you've done a lot of horrible things, and yet there's also something about you that...I don't know...I feel bad for you. You could have been a wonderful person if you hadn’t taken the path that you did. Don't take this the wrong way, but I think you're...never mind."

I'm crazy, that's what you want to say, Tom thought bitterly. He looked down at his fingernails and wondered how horribly scratched his face was.

"I think you need some help," Harry said. "Please leave the library soon. I don't want you to be alone." Silence followed; Harry had left.

Tom tried to raise his head, but he found it difficult. He turned around on the sofa chair instead. He had to leave the library eventually, which meant he had to face Harry again. There was no doubt that Harry was going to start talking about the matter of love again.

He sighed. Love was too fatuous to comprehend. Maybe if he just listened to what Harry said about love instead of arguing against everything he could start to understand this strange entity and why many people were obsessed with it.

It will also put my mind at peace if I finally understand this phenomenon, Tom convinced himself.

He closed his eyes, and sleep took over.


The sentence "You'd think that people would have had enough of silly love songs!" came from a song by Paul McCartney called "Silly Love Songs." I couldn't resist adding this line in. :)