Killing Me Softly

Squinting, Harry looked around. He didn't recognize the quiet neighborhood they had landed in. Had he come here for a reason? He staggered, suddenly realizing how fatigued he was.

He could vaguely make out the shape of someone walking in the opposite direction. By the sound of his humming, he was not paying attention to them, merrily going along on his way. Harry gathered his strength; Tom's skin was getting cold and clammy...

"Help." His voice was barely audible. Harry tried again. His body felt as though it was falling apart.

The man took notice of them and approached. Harry squinted, looking at a vaguely familiar face. The man's balding head and moustache reminded him of a walrus...

"Help us," Harry said weakly. "He's bleeding...injured..."

The man kept staring at them, stunned. His eyes briefly lingered on Harry's forehead, instantly recognizing him, before falling on the boy in Harry's arms.

"Sweet Merlin - Tom!"

His grocery bags fell to the ground. Harry felt himself being helped to his feet. He could barely stand, but he fought to keep his balance as he helped Tom into the man's arms.

"What happened? Are you okay, Harry Potter?" the man questioned worriedly as he headed for a nearby house. Harry followed closely, but he could not speak. Walking was difficult. He looked down and saw just how much blood he was drenched in.

He wanted to say that he was fine, that the blood on his clothes was not his, but the fatigue had become too much to endure. He collapsed right then, and everything went black.

Horace Slughorn was at a loss for what to do. Harry Potter was unconscious on the floor, and an infamous former student was bleeding in his arms. What had happened? Why did Tom Riddle look like he hadn't aged a day since school? Why was Harry Potter trying to get him to safety?

Slughorn whipped out his wand from his pocket and magicked Harry off the floor. He rushed the two boys into his house and straight into his work room. The two chairs that stood side by side were transfigured into small beds. Harry was settled on one, and with a quick examination, Slughorn concluded that Harry was in stable condition.

He settled Tom on the other bed; Tom's skin had gone very pale, alarming Slughorn. He didn't have much time. He relieved Tom of his tainted robes and healed all the wounds he could find. Noticing a line of blood dripping down his lips, Slughorn opened Tom's mouth and healed the cut on his tongue.

When he was done sealing the wounds, Slughorn hurried to the cabinet where he kept a stock of every potion and antidote imaginable.

The vial of phoenix blood was in the far left corner. Slughorn had never thought he would one day use it. He ran back to Tom, raised him up, and tipped the vial into his mouth. He settled Tom back on the bed, felt his pulse, and added more until the boy's skin felt warm in his hand.

Slughorn breathed a sigh of relief. He stared at Tom, astonished. He had used up more than half of the small vial.

Tom should have been dead.

He moved closer, examining Tom. It really was him; he was not imagining it.

"The Horcrux," he said under his breath, shaking his head.

A moan averted his attention. Harry was stirring, looking severely pained.

"How do you feel?" Slughorn asked Harry.

"T...tired..." Harry's voice was barely audible. He shifted his head until he could see Tom.

"He's going to be fine," Slughorn assured Harry. "You both need to get to St. Mungo's. It's the wizarding hospital," he added when Harry looked confused.

"No!" Harry begged, his eyes wide. "Don't...don't take us there. They'll hurt him..."

Slughorn furrowed his eyebrows, but he quickly came up with a plan. With a flick of his wand, the scar on Harry's face disappeared and his eyes changed to dark brown.

"Wha-"

"You're safe now," Slughorn said promptly before heading to the fireplace. He knew exactly who to contact. Grabbing a handful of Floo Powder, he threw it into the fire and called out, "Edwin Linford!"

A wizard in lime green robes appeared out of the flames. He dusted the soot off his robes and regarded Slughorn with a big smile.

"Edwin, my boy!" Slughorn greeted, giving him a joyful pat on the shoulder.

"Good day, Professor," Healer Linford said. "How may I assist you? I do hope you are not feeling ill."

"Oh no, this call isn't for me," Slughorn said, motioning to the two boys. "These two brothers were harshly abused."

"Terrible," Healer Linford said sadly as he approached them. He glanced at Harry, but gave no indication that he recognized him. "By Death Eaters, I presume. They have been attacking our community with vigor since their leader's return a fortnight ago."

So that's how long we were prisoners, Harry thought as Healer Linford gave him a quick look over before turning his attention to Tom.

"He lost a large amount of blood," Slughorn explained as Healer Linford carefully examined the unconscious boy. Harry kept his eyes on the Healer's face, watching his furrowed eyebrows and concerned eyes.

"He had a seizure," Harry blurted out.

"Has he ever had one before?" Healer Linford asked.

"No," Harry said. Behind Healer Linford, Slughorn also shook his head.

"Post traumatic epilepsy," Healer Linford diagnosed. He waved his wand around Tom head while one thumb massaged Tom's temple. "He suffered minor bleeding in the brain."

Harry bit his lip.

"It's amazing," Healer Linford said after casting more spells. "Damage is bare minimum despite the hemorrhage. Your brother is very lucky." Healer Linford cradled Tom in one arm as though he was an infant, and with his other wand, he traced around Tom's forehead. He chanted what appeared to be a song under his breath, his eyes flashing a pale, whitish blue.

"Problem fixed," the healer said with a final wave of his wand. "How are you feeling, young lad?" he whispered to Tom affectionately. Harry smiled sadly; Tom looked so vulnerable at that moment. His eyes scanned around in a daze, looking slightly confused at where he was and at being held by an unfamiliar person as though he were a small child.

"W-who are you?" he demanded tiredly when he regained full consciousness. Harry could not suppress a small laugh.

"He's himself," Harry said.

"I am the Head Healer of the Non-Magical Injuries department," Healer Linford informed Tom kindly. "Do you have a headache right now?"

"No," Tom responded, trying to break from the Healer's arms.

"Good. Now get some rest. You'll be fine by tomorrow," Healer Linford said as he finally set Tom back on the bed. He searched through the deep pockets on his lime green robes and pulled out several miniature thin vials, each full of a different colored liquid.

"Take this once a day for the next three days so you won't relapse," Healer Linford instructed. "And you will need to take this right now." He shoved one of the vials into Tom's mouth without warning. Almost instantly, Tom fell asleep.

Satisfied with his work, Healer Linford turned to Harry. Harry allowed the Healer to examine him, assured that he was not recognizable. Slughorn watched them with a little anxiety now.

"I never asked for your names," Healer Linford told Harry, smiling at him.

"Edwin," Slughorn started, "you cannot reveal the names of these two boys to the public."

Healer Linford glanced at Slughorn.

"Our parents were murdered by the Death Eaters," Harry butted in, regaining Healer Linford's attention. "They let us watch..." Harry allowed his voice to crack, and he glanced at his feet briefly before continuing. Healer Linford was watching him sympathetically. "We're Muggle-born, and they'll recognize our last name."

"They could hurt these boys severely if they knew about their whereabouts," Slughorn added.

"We have no one left," Harry said. "I...I'm scared what they could do to me and my brother if they found us. Father angered them - he's very brave - and they were very angry at us. They almost killed my brother..."

"Do not fear, your names will not be in any record," Healer Linford assured him. "I will not even ask for them. Goodness, have you thought of contacting Professor Dumbledore, Professor Slughorn? These boys have been targeted! They need shelter."

"He will be contacted," Slughorn promised. He gave Harry an approving nod when Healer Linford's back was turned.

Harry thought he was lucky to have Professor Slughorn on his side. From what he knew of Tom's old professor, he had many connections, and Harry was sure that Healer Linford would not have agreed to keep the names off record if he did not have connections with Slughorn.

"How did you escape?" Slughorn asked after Healer Linford had left.

"I don't know," Harry said truthfully, yawning. His fabricated story to Healer Linford had taken an enormous amount of his energy to concoct and deliver convincingly. Ever since he had appeared on this neighborhood, he had been extremely fatigued. A little prickling feeling on his forehead told Harry that his disguise had disintegrated.

"Rest, my boy," Slughorn said, observing Harry's tired face. "We'll talk later."

Harry nodded, wishing his body did not feel like it was falling apart. He made himself comfortable on the bed, and he turned his head towards Tom. Before he let sleep take him, Harry stretched out his right arm and wrapped his weak fingers around Tom's thin hand.

Harry woke up in an unfamiliar room. Instead of the walls being lined with potion ingredients, jars, and vials, he was in what was unmistakably a bedroom. His energy was returning, so he sat up; Tom, however, was not sleeping nearby.

"Tom," he called softly. He scanned around the room, squinting, trying to make out the blurry shapes that were across the room.

"Tom's sleeping in the next room," Slughorn informed as he entered the room. "He needs plenty of rest." He was holding two packages in his arms. "I took the liberty of making bedrooms for you two as I don't think you should be leaving anytime soon. And I've bought a set of clothes for Tom and you. I hope I got your sizes right." He handed Harry one package.

"Thanks," Harry said, feeling guilty that someone he did not know well spent so much time and money on him.

"It is no problem at all," Slughorn said cheerfully before leaving the room, allowing Harry to change in private. He threw on his robes quickly and made for the room next door, where Tom was still sound asleep. Slughorn wasn't around; Tom's package was on the bedside cabinet. Harry gently caressed Tom's hand, but he did not stir. Bending over, Harry brushed a kiss on Tom's cheek before heading out the room.

He took the time to observe the home they now inhabited, taking in as much as he could without his glasses. The house was small yet extremely cozy. Small expensive vases and plates lined the shelves, and all over the walls were framed pictures of Slughorn with people Harry assumed were his former students.

Slughorn was in the living room waiting for him. A teapot and a tray of biscuits sat on the coffee table; Harry's stomach rumbled.

"Have a seat, my boy," Slughorn invited him heartedly. Harry nodded and settled down. He had seen Slughorn in Tom's memories before, but to meet him in person felt odd, like he both knew and did not know him. Slughorn must have taken the awkward silence to mean shyness, because he gave a good chuckle.

"You're as modest as people have told me!" he said while handing Harry a cup of tea. "Please, take a biscuit."

"Thank you," Harry said. It took all his effort not to gulp down the entire plate.

"I don't believe I've introduced myself," Slughorn said. "I am Horace Slughorn; I was Tom's professor and Head of Slytherin house."

"I know," Harry said half-absentmindedly.

"Do you?" Slughorn said, laughing again.

"Yes - Tom told me."

"Has he now? I bet Tom has said a lot of good things about me." He grinned.

"Er...yeah."

Slughorn's face fell. "Do you know who Tom is, Harry?"

"He's Voldemort," Harry said casually. Slughorn winced.

"I would have handed him over to the Ministry by now," Slughorn confessed, "but you were with him, desperate to get him to safety. But it's strange to see him still so young after so many years have gone by."

"He came out of a diary," Harry explained. "He had enchanted it and was living in there."

Slughorn had suddenly become very pale; Harry watched him briefly before continuing. "Thank you for not handing him over. He's my friend." Harry suddenly wished Ron and Hermione were here. His body still ached, but he put it out of his mind. They were safe now...

"How did you save him? What really happened?"

"I don't know how I saved him, but..." Harry said truthfully. He stared at Slughorn.

"Do you trust me, Harry?"

Harry nodded, and he told Slughorn everything that had happened since Tom emerged from the diary except for the immortality spell and the extent of their relationship. When he finished, Slughorn sat deep in thought before he finally spoke.

"That is very interesting, Harry," Slughorn said. "You are the only person I have ever known to become this close to Tom. When I knew him, he had friends at Hogwarts, or shall I say admirers? Professor Dumbledore never believed them to be real friends. Come to think of it, Tom never exposed much of his past to anyone...except to you."

"I'm his friend," Harry said. "A true friend."

"You must mean a lot to Tom for him to change the way he treated you."

Oh, you have no idea, Harry thought, smiling. A thought abruptly came to his mind. "Professor, do you know how there are two Toms around?"

Just then, two hands settled firmly on his shoulder. Harry craned his neck to catch a glimpse of Tom just as Slughorn jumped to his feet.

"You're awake! Here, sit down, I'll help you..."

"I-I don't n-n-n-n-need to be e-e-escorted," Tom said, but Harry had to agree with Slughorn. Tom's face was pale, and he still looked tired. His hands shook slightly. Slughorn settled Tom on the couch adjacent to where Harry sat. Harry wanted to sit next to Tom and hold him, but he thought the better of it.

Slughorn produced a potion vial from his pockets and gave it to Tom, who took it grudgingly.

Slughorn reclaimed his seat, and he and Harry watched Tom. Healer Linford had said that Tom would be fine, but Harry still worried what the torture and seizure could have done to his mind. What if he refused to take the potions Healer Linford had prescribed? He silently encouraged Tom to drink it. From the looks of it, Tom needed the potion.

"You're wondering how...how I came to be in the diary," Tom said to Harry with a small smile. He broke off every few words and had to take a breath. Despite his trembling and weakness, he was still holding himself proudly as always. "I never told you...I'm sure Professor Slughorn can...guess what I have done."

Slughorn's face had gone pale again. "You've done it then?" he said, sounding terribly upset.

"Done what?" Harry asked.

"Harry...the diary was a Horcrux," Tom explained. "I put a part of my soul...in the diary..."

"Horcrux?" Harry repeated, confused. He had never heard the word before.

"It's the darkest form of magic!" Slughorn spoke up. "A wizard murders in order to preserve part of his soul in an object! The act of murder rips the human soul apart. It's the worst act against nature!"

Tom chuckled. Harry just stared at him.

"That's why you're as alive as your older self!" Harry said. "Half of you is here, and the other half is -"

Tom suddenly laughed again.

"How many, Tom?" Slughorn demanded angrily.

Tom smiled before replying. "I made two Horcruxes...that night."

"You split your soul into three parts?" Harry asked, getting angrier every minute.

"No...I planned on seven. If I was successful...there could very well be...more of me out there."

"SEVEN?" Harry jumped from his seat, enraged. "You spilt your soul into seven pieces? Are you out of your bloody mind?" He paused. "Don't answer that," Harry said, seething at Tom's calm, smiling face. "And you knew this?" Harry turned to Slughorn.

"He gave me some information about Horcruxes while I was at school," Tom said before Slughorn could speak.

"I'm not proud of it!" Slughorn quickly said. He looked terrified, his face pale. "I...I should have taken the boy straight to Professor Dippet after he came to me with this nonsense talk!"

"How much did you tell him?" Harry demanded, his eyes boring into Slughorn's.

"He only verified that more than one Horcrux can be made," Tom said with a chuckle. "I did most of the research, so go easy on him, Harry."

Harry rounded on Tom. "Where is the other Horcrux?" he asked after a while.

"I do not know what happened to any of the Horcruxes," Tom said. His breathing was returning to normal. "My soul was the first to leave my old body. I do not know what happened after that point."

"What other objects did you use?" Slughorn questioned.

"I will not disclose any information for you to carry to Dumbledore!" Tom suddenly snapped, straightening up in his seat. Harry and Slughorn exchanged surprised looks before Harry turned to Tom.

"Tom...what was that all about?" Harry asked, sitting down again.

"Don't think that I am on Dumbledore's side now that I had a conflict with my older self," Tom said bitterly. "I want nothing to do with either man."

"We're at war at this moment," Slughorn said desperately. "It's not going to be easy avoiding Dumbledore, Tom. I am on his side, for one thing. You both need protection."

"I can protect myself," Tom said stubbornly.

"I'll take Professor Dumbledore's protection," Harry said boldly. "Tom will follow." His friend shot him a threatening look, but Harry ignored him. Eager to change the subject, Harry added, "What happened since the Quidditch World Cup?"

"It was dreadful," Slughorn said gravely. "A gang of Death Eaters attacked the stadium and killed everyone in their path."

"No!" Harry gasped. Tom leaned forward, listening intently.

"I'm lucky I wasn't there," Slughorn continued. "I had tickets, of course, but I had to give them up at last minute. Fortunately, Albus Dumbledore was there, as were many people from the Order of the Phoenix - I'll explain more about the Order later, Harry. A number of attendants and a few of the Quidditch players themselves ran to aid Dumbledore. Every contribution was valued. Nobody had expected such a huge number of Death Eaters to just materialize and kill everyone they could. It was a brutal fight. Witches and wizards from both sides were killed or injured. The Death Eaters retreated, leaving their injured or dead comrades behind."

"Who got killed?" Harry asked nervously.

"There was a Yaxley - he was a Death Eater," Slughorn started, thinking back on the names he'd read on the Daily Prophet.

"Anyone named Hermione Granger or any Weasley?" Harry interrupted.

"There was a Hermione," Slughorn said. Seeing Harry's horrified face, he quickly added, "She was a two year old girl. Forgot which family she's from. And I haven't heard about any Weasleys getting hurt."

"Oh," Harry said, so relieved that it wasn't his friend. They're safe, thank goodness, he thought. Slughorn smiled sympathetically at Harry.

"Your friends?" he said.

"Yes, I love them both," Harry said.

Tom gave a small irritable twitch. "What has my older self been doing since then?" he asked.

"As I said before, we're at war," Slughorn said. "Deaths are being reported on a daily basis. You-Know-Who and his army have taken us all by surprise. Of course, Dumbledore always expected him to rise back to power, but none of us expected to see some of the most dangerous Death Eaters escape from Azkaban. The number of You-Know-Who's supporters has increased significantly."

"So we're not really winning the war, are we?" Harry asked, frowning.

"I won't lie to you and say we are, Harry," Slughorn said sadly. "You-Know-Who has gathered supporters from the werewolves, giants, and Dementors, among others...the entire wizarding world is startled at how much power and how many allies he was able to gather underneath our noses."

"I have always been very clever," Tom interjected. "I am not surprised that my older self was able to achieve so much without a proper body."

Slughorn's moustache twitched in amusement. "We're having trouble keeping the Muggles from noticing. Thus far only the Muggle Minister has been informed; he's got to know what's going on in his country."

They sat in silence for a while. The plate of biscuits was empty, and the last of the tea lay cold in the teapot.

"I don't think we can go back to our home," Harry finally broke the silence.

"Where do you live?" Slughorn asked.

"I cannot tell you where," Harry replied. "Tom and I lived there since he, well, kidnapped me."

"It would be best if you remained here with me."

"Our home is secured with every spell imaginable," Tom argued.

"But you both are without wands," Slughorn pointed out, "and it is mighty difficult to get a new wand these days. It's best for you two stay with me. Dumbledore will protect you."

"Thank you, Professor," Harry said firmly before Tom could argue again.

Slughorn gradually found out about Tom and Harry's relationship. It was the little things that eventually gave them away. Slughorn did not witness the nights when Harry snuck out from his room, slipped into the room next door, snuggled under the covers, and held Tom in his arms as they carried on conversations in whispers throughout the night.

However, he noticed the way their hands lingered when they touched and the shared looks they gave each other that were so familiar to Slughorn. It was as though, for a split second, they lived in a world separate from everyone else's. Slughorn used to share these looks with someone the exact same way when he was in love.

Should I be surprised about this? Slughorn pondered one day while glossing over a Potions book, checking up on an recipe. Earlier that day, Tom and Harry were settled in the family room when Tom picked up Slughorn's box of crystallized pineapple.

"He's still eating them," Slughorn had heard Tom say to Harry with a chuckle. "He never gets tired of them. Here." At that point Slughorn took a peek as Tom took one of the pieces and slipped it into Harry's mouth; Harry closed his lips around Tom's thumb, and Tom let his thumb linger inside while one finger traced Harry's jaws. Neither were aware that Slughorn witnessed their private moment together.

Tom hadn't ever expressed much interest in any of the girls who goggled over him at Hogwarts, Slughorn noted. It could very well have been because his interests lay somewhere else.

But he had many male friends, and he never showed interest in them either, Slughorn reminded himself before he carefully reread one line in the Potions book. Whatever it was, Harry had unlocked something inside the boy. His influence, although it did not stop Tom from throwing sarcastic comments and acting haughty around the house, had tamed him enough so that he did not run back to their dwelling.

And then there were days when Tom completely closed up. Active conversations at the dinner table between Slughorn and Harry were marked by Tom's strange silence. Harry sensed it as well, and he would keep an eye on him, watching his friend like a hawk.

One early morning, Slughorn found the boys lying together in bed. He quickly glanced at them and then looked away, not wanting to be rude. Tom was sleeping straight on his back, his arms and legs to himself and his head facing away from Harry, who slept on his side with his arms and legs wrapped around Tom's body and his head rested near Tom's shoulder.

It was Tom's sleeping position that disturbed Slughorn more, especially now that he knew of the boys' relationship. It was as though even in his sleep, Harry was fighting to shatter the iciness that was slowly dominating Tom...

Something's not right, Slughorn wondered while his eyes lingered back at the stiffness of Tom's body, but he pushed the thought out of his mind.

"I love you," Harry said a voice so quiet Tom could barely here him. He kissed him tenderly, although Tom returned each act of tenderness with no interest. "I love you...I love you..."

"No more, Harry," Tom said tiredly before burying his face in the pillow. Harry sighed, but he kept his arms and legs wrapped around Tom, watching him. He moved closer and continued to gently caress Tom, but he stopped when the loving acts resulted in Tom falling asleep.

Harry sighed. Tom had appeared fine during the first few days after they arrived at Slughorn's house, but something was slowly boiling up inside him, and it now threatened to consume him. Harry refused to let Tom slip through his fingers, not when he'd worked so hard to get him to open up...

"What happened, Tom?" he asked worriedly. Harry was becoming increasingly concerned about Tom's reservation with each new day. "What did they do to you? What made you have a seizure, Tom? What made you suffer so many days after they hurt you?"

Tom did not respond, and Harry sighed again, but he refused to shift away from Tom. It was their nightly battle; Harry fought to keep Tom open to him, while Tom fought to close up completely.

In the end, it was Harry who won. Harry, who was so determined to get Tom back to him that he'd resort to waking Tom up from his sleep with gently kisses and caresses, stubbornly refusing to move away even with Tom's exhausted demands to get off him.

Tom was annoyed with Harry constantly bothering him. Couldn't the brat see that Tom didn't want to talk to anyone? Yet despite his anger at Harry, Tom also wanted to tell him. Hadn't they shared so much of their past already, lived it through the other's eyes? Sooner or later Harry would witness what Tom had experienced with his older self and his Death Eaters...wouldn't it be better to tell him rather to have Harry find out that way?

After yet another night, he finally broke his resolve. Tom was lying with his back to Harry, his shoulders hunched up, part of him still wishing that Harry would get away from him. But he listened to Harry as his voice slowly became more slurred. Sleep was finally getting to him...

"I don...wan...you...to suffer...a...lone..." Harry said drowsily. "Please...Tom..." The grip on Tom's body lightened. Tom waited until he was sure Harry was asleep. He let his shoulder fall; he could not keep running away from Harry, and a small part of him wanted to talk to him...

"They buried me alive," Tom said in a low voice, half-hoping Harry could not hear him. "It was the most terrifying moment of my life. I went into convulsions. I don't know why, most likely a combination of the Killing Curse and my fear."

He paused. "I saw my mother."

Did Harry's arms just tighten around him?

"I...I think I was experiencing death," Tom continued, unsuccessful in keeping his voice steady. "Why else would I have seen her? I was wobbling on the line between life and death, but the spell kept me sealed in my body...

"...I wished I would die. I actually wished for death."

He grew quiet. Harry's arms had tightened themselves around him again. For one wild moment, Tom wanted to turn around and squeeze Harry tightly in his arms. He quickly felt like kicking himself for wanting to show so much emotion and fear at the memory of being six feet under.

You're getting too soft, boy, Tom told himself angrily. You're stronger than that.

The next morning, Tom woke up in Harry's arms; they were facing each other once more, their legs entwined, Tom's left hand next to Harry's mess of hair, and Harry's hand resting lazily on Tom's right wrist. This was how it used to be.

When Harry opened his eyes, they stared at each other. Neither spoke, but Tom knew that Harry had heard his confession last night from the slight nod he gave him and his intense gaze.

They shared a kiss before getting up for the day, Tom's secret left behind in the entangled bed sheets.

The following morning, Harry was heading for the kitchen when he heard Slughorn conversing in the living room.

"Yes, Albus, my thoughts exactly."

Harry took a peek inside just as the green flames distinguished.

"Harry, my boy!" Slughorn greeted cheerfully as he made his way out the living room. "Good morning!"

"Were you speaking to Professor Dumbledore?" Harry asked as they walked together to the kitchen. Tom was still upstairs sleeping. "I just heard the last part," Harry quickly added, hoping he did not come off as intrusive.

Slughorn chuckled heartily. "I was, Harry," he said. With a wave of his wand, eggs flew out of the refrigerator and cracked open in midair. The yolk landed neatly in the frying pan. "We were discussing the way you and Tom escaped."

"Oh," Harry said while he helped Slughorn prepare the table. "What did Professor Dumbledore say?"

"Well, you used magic that most wizards cannot normally do without the aid of a wand," Slughorn explained. "And not only that, it's not a spell that's in any textbook you could learn from."

"So what was it?"

"You willed something to happen," Slughorn said. "That's normal for witches and wizards. We all can make magic happen if we are very emotional -" Harry remembered the time he'd made his hair grow back after Aunt Petunia gave him a hideous haircut "-however, what makes your case so interesting is the complexity of what you did.

"You transported yourself and Tom right into a place where you could receive help from someone you could trust. That's very impressive," Slughorn finished. He turned and looked at Harry. "What were you feeling or thinking before it happened?"

"I was terrified," Harry confessed, deciding that it was best to share all of his feelings at the time if it meant they would learn more about what he had done. "Voldemort and Pyrites were coming at us. I kept hoping we would get away. I was very scared for Tom; he was quickly losing a lot of blood."

"Anything else?"

"I wanted nothing more than to get Tom to safety," Harry added. "All I could do was think of him."

"That's what Albus and I concluded," Slughorn said with a nod. He turned off the stove, transferred the eggs and bacon to a large plate, and set it on the table. "Your powerful emotions made you take Tom to safety, and they brought you two to me. Out of all the places you could have landed in the world, it was a few feet away from my house. Albus and I believe this is all connected to your feelings for Tom. I know how you feel for him, Harry," he added when Harry's eyes widened slightly.

"Uh..." Harry said, feeling stupid.

Slughorn chuckled. "Albus has noticed something in you that was confirmed the day when you showed up on this block. You have an incredible amount of love in you. It was your love that gave you the power to get out of there. If I must say, I believe love is your greatest power."

"Love saved Tom and me?" Harry said, raising an eyebrow.

"From what you've told me, yes," Slughorn said. "Love is more powerful than you're giving it credit for, Harry. It can be the most powerful force behind a spell."

"So I'm full of love," Harry said, his mind floating up to the bed he shared with Tom. "Explains why I could like him so much even after everything that he's done..."

To Harry's delight, they were to get him a new pair of glasses after breakfast. They could not do so before because of the war. Special arrangements had to be made just to ensure Harry's safety.

"Good," Harry said after Slughorn gave him the news. "I can finally go back to appreciating the details in life." He quickly cast Tom a wink. He had been teasing his friend that he wanted to be closer to him because he could not see him properly.

"You're just a blur from here," Harry used to say with a little smile. "Come closer so I can see if that's a smile you have plastered on."

After breakfast, Tom watched Slughorn as he placed disguising charms on Harry.

"You should do the same on Tom," Harry said as his scar disappeared, his eyes turned brown, and his hair curled and lightened. "He's in as much danger as I am."

"I'd like to see them try to attack me," Tom said smugly.

"Yeah, without a wand," Harry muttered although he could not disguise a smile at Tom's arrogance. "Why are we going to Diagon Alley, professor? Wouldn't a Muggle place be better?"

"Diagon Alley's safer," Slughorn explained. "Yes, the Death Eaters have attacked Muggle towns. There are witches and wizards willing to rush to our aid if we're attacked. There's also the Order."

"Shouldn't they also guard the Muggle areas?"

"They are, but it's harder to keep everything in check when you don't want to expose this world to the Muggles."

Harry nodded, understand. "Are we going to get any wands?" he next asked Slughorn.

"Not today," he said, throwing a quick odd glance at Tom. "Ollivander's shop was attacked, you know that. Wands need to be ordered, and there's a long waiting list. Extremely few people have the know-how to make wands, and they are not revealing their names to the public; it's an extremely complicated process that requires talent."

"But we will get wands eventually, won't we?" Harry asked.

"Dumbledore's on it," Slughorn said hastily. Tom raised an eyebrow, but he said nothing.

Diagon Alley was different from how Harry remembered it two years ago. Several shops stood vacant; Ollivander's shop was closed, and the wand Harry remembered seeing next to the window was gone. The road was not as crowded as it was before. He caught Tom glance longingly in the direction of Knockturn Alley.

"There has to be another way to get a wand now," Tom muttered in Parseltongue.

"You're not going to do anything stupid," Harry contradicted, and he gripped Tom's wrist.

"Oh, yes, let me sit pretty while precious Dumbledore works everything out!" Tom spat.

"Here we are," Slughorn said, interrupting their argument. The shop was so small that Harry would have passed it up had he not known where it was located. There was no door, but there were a couple of chairs for the costumers to sit on, and on the other side of the table sat a very ancient wizard with white eyes. Behind him and inside the cabinets of the table were rows of eyeglass frames.

"Good day, Ping Qiu," Slughorn greeted.

"Hello," Qiu said in a wheezing voice. "Are you here for a new pair of glasses?"

"Not for me, but for Harry," Slughorn said.

"Please take a seat, Harry," Qiu said kindly although he did not look at Harry. Still gripping Tom's wrist, Harry dragged him to the set of chairs.

He's blind! Harry realized after he settled down, Tom and Slughorn on either side of him. Qiu made a few odd clicking sounds with his tongue as he stretched out his hand.

"Please, lean forward," he ordered. "Are you comfortable?"

"Yes," Harry said. While still making those clicking sounds, Qiu gently cupped Harry's face in his hands. He brought his hands forward until they were right in front of Harry's eyes. Harry did everything the wizard told him to do, listening as the wizard muttered spells. Harry felt a small gust of wind fly past his eyes, and he had to restrain himself from jumping backward when he felt a sudden bout of wind hit him squarely on both eyes. He wanted to make the process as easy as possible for the blind man.

"All done," Qiu said kindly after several minutes. He moved and settled each of his hand on Harry's ears. Then he took his wand, which was connected to a piece of rope that hung around his neck, and magically beckoned a bin full of frames in Harry's size. "Please choose a frame while I make your lenses."

"Thank you," Harry said. He glanced at Tom, who was watching Qiu with interest. Slughorn was thoroughly impressed. Harry rummaged through the frames and tried several on while Qiu made tiny waving movements around two lenses.

"I should get this one," Harry said, smiling mischievously as he tried on a pair of half-moon spectacles. He smiled at Tom. "Now all I have to do is grow a white beard, and I'll look just like your best friend!"

"Please don't," Tom said with a groan, swiping the glass frame off Harry's face. Harry laughed. He found pair of round frames that closely resembled his old pair, except that they weren't held together by tape in the middle.

"I want this one," he said. "I'm comfortable with this style."

"Have you chosen?" Qiu asked.

"Yes, sir," Harry said, sliding the frame into Qiu's reach.

With a few complicated twirls of Qiu's wand, accompanied by more clicking sounds, the lenses formed and shaped themselves into the frames.

"Thank you," Harry said when Qiu handed him his new glasses. He slipped them on and surveyed his surroundings.

"How are they?" Tom asked, smiling at him.

"They're perfect," Harry said, amazed at the wizard's skill. The world was no longer a big blurry screen; he could now discern every detail around him. "Thank you, sir!"

"My pleasure, Harry," Qiu responded, smiling in Harry's direction.

"He sees with sound," Tom said after they had paid and were making their way back to The Leaky Cauldron. "Human echolocation; I'm impressed."

Harry turned to Tom; Slughorn was a couple feet away from them.

"How do you like it?" Harry asked.

"It's you," Tom said, and he dared a quick kiss on the lips.

Up on the second story landing, standing in the shadows, Lord Voldemort observed the people gathered below. There were his loyal Death Eaters and his supporters, the old and new, as well as several witches and wizards waiting to receive their Dark Mark.

However, Lord Voldemort's mind was not on his achievement of gathering more followers. His thoughts continually drifted back to what he had seen during the nights between his disgusting younger self and that brat he shamelessly enjoyed locking lips with.

A corner of his mouth twitched as the revolting images resurfaced in his mind. His younger self's behavior had struck a chord inside him. While he watched the crowd below, Voldemort pondered over his own sexuality. Was his younger self simply being foolish or was he, Voldemort, in fact a homosexual?

He did not mind the silent looks of his followers as they gossiped amongst themselves about their leader; the knowledge of what he was capable of doing if they angered him was enough to render them silent and respectful.

However, there was still something he had to prove to himself...

"I want her in my private chambers," he spoke suddenly to the Death Eater closest to him while pointing at one of the newcomers below. The Death Eater nodded, and Voldemort made his way to his room. He did not have to wait long; there was a knock, and the Death Eater entered, closely followed by a witch.

"Thank you," Voldemort said shortly. "You may leave." The Death Eater nodded before leaving, closing the door behind him. Voldemort surveyed the girl, wanting to take in everything although it was a little hard for she had worn her hood, covering her hair and part of her face. From what Voldemort could see, she appeared to be in her early twenties, and she was watching him with both fear and relief on her face.

Lord Voldemort gave her a smile, slightly alarmed that nothing inside him stirred while he observed her. "What is your name, miss?"

"G-g-g-good day, my l-l-l-lord," she said shakily. "M-m-my name is V-v-vivian Yaxley."

"Yaxley's daughter," Voldemort said, nodding. "Your father's death was noble."

Something changed on Vivian's face. "My father was murdered," she said weakly. Her fearful bright blue eyes didn't leave his. "An Auror killed him. And I never knew my mother..."

Voldemort raised a hand. "Don't cry," he said. "You are still too young to understand, Vivian." He spoke as kindly and softly as he could, and it worked. He needed her for his little experiment, and he could not carry it out if she cried. "I understand your pain; I was an orphan shortly after my birth. But you will not be alone. I can protect you."

Vivian vigorously nodded. "Please," she said, "I have nowhere else to go!"

Voldemort surveyed her again, mentally counting the seconds before speaking again. "Please, dear Vivian, take your hood off. Let me see you."

Vivian obeyed, and her long wavy auburn hair spilled over her shoulders. Voldemort was suddenly reminded of Dumbledore with her hair and face...a feminine, young version of Dumbledore...

The Yaxleys and Dumbledores are very closely related, Voldemort thought bitterly, briefly regretting his decision. But he could not back out now. The girl was without parents, and she was seeking protection from him; this was his perfect opportunity. She could prove a very vital fact Voldemort wanted to uncover.

"Oh, where are my manners?" Voldemort said. "Please, sit down, Vivian." He pulled up a chair in front of him, and he rested back and watched as the witch, trembling nervously, settled herself in front of him.

Voldemort spent an hour asking her questions, getting to understand as much as he could of her past, all the while trying to make this private meeting as official as he could. After all, she was to receive the Dark Mark. As the time withered away, he grew more alarmingly aware of his lack of reaction to her. Any other man would have said Vivian was beautiful and many would have found her naïve nature endearing, but Voldemort felt none of that.

When he felt it was appropriate, he commenced the ritual. Normally the receiving of the Dark Mark was a public event with the rest of the Death Eaters in attendance, but Voldemort needed the opportunity to get closer to her.

He brought her to his bedroom and made her sit on his bed while he performed the spells, careful to be gentle with her. When it was over, she was gripping the bedpost with one arm, wincing at the sting. Voldemort pulled her arm towards him, massaging the Dark Mark soothingly.

"It will heal quickly," he said.

She looked at him with wide eyes. "Am I under your protection now?" she asked unnecessarily. What a dimwitted girl, Voldemort thought.

"Yes," Voldemort said. To his delight, she inched forward, glanced at him shyly, and then slowly brought her arms around him in a hug. "There is one thing I would like you to do for me, Vivian," he said. "Are you willing to do anything I ask of you?"

"Anything," Vivian said immediately. Such gullibility...

But nothing happened. Voldemort grew increasingly worried, and no matter how much he concentrated on her pale and smooth body underneath him, he could not achieve the same ecstasy his younger self had experienced while he touched himself. It was the same thing as had occurred with Rosier; he needed to wordlessly cast spells to keep from embarrassing himself in front of her.

Nothing, Voldemort thought, disappointed and terrified as they laid in bed afterwards. Vivian was watching him shyly, the bed covers covering her up to her nose. Voldemort ignored her as he tried to sort everything in his mind.

He could have tried sexual relations with a male Death Eater to see how his body reacted, but Voldemort dismissed the idea out of hand. I am not a homosexual, he insisted to himself. I simply lack the weakness toward women - yes, weakness - that lesser men bear.

Instead, Voldemort diagnosed his younger self as a disgraceful fool who had let himself be wrapped around Potter's finger. Perhaps being stuck in a diary for fifty years had altered his mind, or perhaps the immortality spell had resulted in unexpected side-effects. Either way, it did not affect Voldemort himself.

He turned onto his side and met Vivian's eyes. Though he found her insipid, a relationship with a girl from a proud pure-blooded lineage would set an appropriate example for his followers and lay to rest any other...concerns they might have.

The very next day, without any true emotion in his voice, Lord Voldemort announced that Vivian Yaxley and he were engaged.