Chasing Harry

Chapter Four: Doppelganger

"Draco, you haven't been listening." Exasperated, Tom poked Draco on the ribs.

Startled, the blond Slytherin raised his eyes to Tom's and smiled sheepishly. They were browsing among the more unusual sweets in Honeydukes and for the past three minutes, Tom had been trying to convince him to buy at least one small bag of spider-crunchies by enumerating its various assets.

Draco sighed. "I'm sorry I'm not a lot of fun today. It's just that I had a visit from my father this morning."

"Oh." Tom's smile disappeared and was replaced by a troubled look. His brow furrowed slightly. "Lucius."

"Do you..." Somehow, Draco found this difficult to ask. "Do you remember him? When he was...when you were..."

"I know who your father is," Tom said tersely, his mouth tightening.

His expression was shuttered, and Draco sensed a sudden chill from him. The green eyes were cold, blank, and guarded, and for a split second, the blond sensed something dangerous lurking beneath Tom's normally calm demeanor. He shivered inside, realizing that he had glimpsed a side of Tom he had never seen before. With him, Tom was usually more open, not as distant as he was with other students. But at that moment, Draco realized that there may be more to the him than he had assumed.

Just then, Tom's expression relaxed. He blinked, giving Draco a small smile.

"I'm sorry. I just remembered something." He nodded apologetically to Draco, shaking his head.

"Look, I know that father may have done some things that--"

"No," Tom stopped him once more. "It wasn't your father. Forget about it. I was just... distracted."

The dark-haired Slytherin cleared his throat and turned back to the jar of sweets he was still holding. Draco looked down and noticed that the other boy's knuckles were white. He was holding the jar so tightly that it seemed it would break with more pressure. Draco took it from him, gently peeling Tom's fingers from his death grip on the glass.

"Tom, do you want to talk about it?"

Tom didn't look up, he continued to stare at the jar Draco had taken from him, as if he could find the answers there. "I would rather not."

Draco nodded silently. He would have to wait until his friend opened up. He knew that there was something more to this Voldemort business, something that troubled Tom so much that he continued to hide it, even from himself. He wondered about what Tom had seen in those three years, all those days in the Dark Lord's mind. Then he remembered what Lucius had told him earlier. Tom may need all the help he could get. Maybe, just maybe, Draco could do something about it.

***

Back in Hogwarts, Tom shut the door to his room and almost collapsed against it. He had been kidding himself.

Slowly, he walked to his armchair and sat down heavily, the light and false gaiety gone from his form. For the rest of the day, he had tried to remain cheerful for Draco and his housemates but his friend's mention of Lucius had brought back memories he would rather forget.

He squinted and rubbed his hands over his face, trying to shut out the unbidden visions of blood and gore that still troubled his dreams at night, but managed to block out for most of the day. In his mind, he saw them again: the desperate men and women who screamed, begging for their lives at the last moment, while the Dark Lord laughed and mocked their pleas. Their shrieks of pain at the overwhelming torture they had been forced to endure had been too much for the young Tom. He had been screaming himself--shouting for it all to stop, to stop the madness that he never thought he would've been able endure--while his other self merely ignored his entreaties. After all, he was just a voice with no real power. An unimportant nuisance to the Overlord who was Voldemort.

He suddenly felt angry. Angry with himself for ever being so stupid that he thought he could consume the world with his hate. The flames in the fireplace rose dangerously to match his fury as he clutched at the wooden armrest so tightly that he felt his fingers ache with the pressure. He let himself feel it all: his rage with himself, with the Dark Lord, with the other Death Eaters, with his mother for dying and leaving him alone, with his father and all the other people who had failed him and made him who he was. When the lights started to fluctuate erratically, with the chandelier swinging noisily overhead, Tom started, realizing what he had just done.

He forced himself to calm down and shut out the anger. His breath slowed and steadied and the lights brightened once again. He never should've lost his temper like that. He had forgotten how easy it was for him to wreck things with his magic, even without a wand. He sighed, leaning back on his chair.

He had thought he would be able to turn away from all that while he started anew in Hogwarts. He had a new life, new friends, and a new future. Dumbledore was his guardian and protector. Gads! He even befriended Harry Potter! He had convinced himself that his past was merely a nightmare that was meant to be forgotten. But it seemed that he could never really run away. Like his previous tenure in this school, he was still wearing a mask.

It hadn't always been bad. Sometime in his life, he must have been loved. He remembered feeling something like happiness a long time ago. He was a very young boy--hardly more than a babe--and his mother had thrown him in the air, her lilting laugh music to his ears. The sun had been shining, and he remembered looking up, seeing the sky as bright as his life, before she finally caught him in her arms once more. Nothing had ever matched that high afterwards. Not long after that, she had died, and it all went downhill from there. He was thrown from one orphanage to another, rejected by his own father and labeled as a freak. He was never the Riddle family' s son--just a dirty secret meant to be locked away from the public's eye. But aside from losing his mother, the only person he ever cared about, Tom never really minded. He had been, and still was, a very strong wizard. His discovery of his magical abilities compensated for the loneliness, and he never wished for a family again. Upon entering school, he had forged a path that would allow him to prove his worth to this hateful world. And then he had been locked in the diary, spending fifty years in a limbo of anger and helplessness.

Somehow, from that one shining moment to this, he had lost himself.

Tom pushed the memories from his mind. This wasn't a time for regrets. He had promised himself more than fifty years ago that he would never look back, and he never intended to again. For a moment, he had allowed himself to be weak. But it was over. There were more important things to think about. Like a practiced machine, his mind switched to the cold logic he was more used to.

Lucius had come to the school.

He remembered the elder Malfoy, blond, proud, and as enigmatic as his son, standing beside the Dark Lord and obeying his orders no matter how gruesome they were. The man almost never spoke, except to object to something once in a while. But when he did, the other Death Eaters listened, for he never said anything stupid, unlike that stupid asshole Avery who obeyed only out of fear. What chilled him was the blank expression on Lucius' face whenever they did something particularly brutal. Even Voldemort didn't completely know what went inside the blond Death Eater's head most of the time. He just appreciated the other's power and his loyalty to Voldemort's cause.

He wracked his brain. He seemed to be missing something. Something about Lucius, and Voldemort. He didn't remember everything that happened in those three years. It had been a circus of horror that mostly made itself felt through his dreams--when he was most vulnerable at sleep.

Tom thought of Draco and the young Slytherin's relationship with his father. If Draco had managed to grow up decently enough, maybe there was something more to Lucius Malfoy than the cold beast he had categorized him to. But what did his visit this morning mean? Lucius was not one to do things without a purpose. He decided that, for himself as well as his new friend, he had to find out more about this.

***

Tom hurriedly dashed out his door, and immediately ran into Harry who was just about to knock. The Gryffindor stumbled awkwardly while an embarrassed Tom quickly apologized.

"Did you feel the that weird thing that happened earlier?" Harry asked, his green eyes wide.

"What thing?"

"There was a powerful surge of magic that shook the whole school. I was in Professor Dumbledore's office a few minutes ago when the lights just started to go crazy. The furniture shook a bit and freaked a lot of people out. It was like a Muggle power surge in the electrical lines, only more peculiar."

Guiltily, Tom thought about his emotional flare-up earlier. He had not realized that he had affected the whole building. "Um, I was thinking so I didn't really notice. By the way," he quickly changed the subject, "what were you about to tell me?"

"Professor Dumbledore asked me to send for you," Harry answered matter-of-factly. He didn't seem to find anything odd with Tom's response. "He's in his office, waiting."

"All right. I'll go at once." Tom waved goodbye to Harry while he hurried to the Headmasters' office, feeling quite apprehensive with what the old wizard had to say.

Harry watched Tom's back as the boy ran, his robes flaring behind him. Harry turned to the door and shook his head, amused. Tom had forgotten to close it. He reached for the knob and was about to shut the door when he noticed something strange. Tom had left the fire burning. That itself was all right but it was what surrounded it that disturbed him. A large area of the stones that framed the fireplace, even the corner of the carpet near the chairs, was burned black and stained with soot.

He frowned, sure that Tom wouldn't have been so careless to leave the fire burning dangerously strong. But it did seem normal now. In fact, it was a little weak, as there was little firewood left to fuel it. Deciding to leave the matter alone and respect Tom's privacy, Harry shut the door and walked to Gryffindor Tower.

There was a spring in his step as he approached the Fat Lady's portrait. Dumbledore had given him wonderful news and he couldn't wait to tell Hermione and Ron about it. He entered the portrait door, smiling at some of his housemates he met on the way. The students were still talking about the unusual magical upsurge and were formulating the funniest reasons as to its origins. As much as Harry would have loved to join the discussion, he had some news to deliver. He approached his two closest friends who were busily conferring on one of the couches in one corner. Harry touched their shoulders, getting their attention.

"Guess what?" He asked excitedly.

Ron met Hermione's eye and grinned. "What is it Harry?" the redhead asked dryly, enjoying Harry's enthusiasm.

"Sirius' release was finalized just today!" Harry burst out, grinning from ear to ear.

The three friends hugged exuberantly with the good news and Ron even whooped loudly, earning him a few odd surprised looks from their housemates. In reality, Sirius had been free for months now, ever since he had started to fight alongside Dumbledore against Voldemort after Wormtail had been exposed. He had received acceptance from the wizarding world for his bravery and loyalty all these years. Still, it had taken the Ministry, under new leadership, ages to settle all the paperwork that had to be done after Voldemort's demise. Apparently, the late Cornelius Fudge (he had been one of the Dark Lord's many victims) had left an appalling amount of work unfinished. That was why Sirius' release papers were just formally signed and announced to the public just this morning.

"This is great news!" Hermione gushed. "Now Sirius would be able to live without worrying about Dementors running after them anymore."

"Yes," Harry agreed. "And you know what else is brewing... the Daily Prophet just offered to do a special segment about him. You know, about his side of the fight, and how he managed to stay sane and all through these years. The whole treatment."

"Well he deserves it and more," Hermione huffed. "If they would just think about how they treated poor Sirius when he was still a fugitive... it's really the least they could do."

"That and all the awards they reaped on him after the war," Ron added. Sirius had received many commendations and had even been awarded the highest honor a wizard could ever achieve: Order of Merlin, First Class.

"Well, at least he's happy now." Harry smiled gently, thinking of his godfather. He loved his Sirius like he imagined he would a father, if James were alive. Sirius' devotion to Harry had been absolute even during the most trying times, and the young Gryffindor never forgot that.

"You know, I think we should go visit them now," Harry suddenly suggested.

"Who?" Hermione raised her brows.

"Sirius. And I think Remus is in town so they'll probably be at the house. It's a weekend and it's early enough. We could get back in time for dinner if we hurry."

"We'll show up unannounced?" Hermione exclaimed.

"Even better!" Ron grinned. "It'll be some celebration. Harry will buy the booze, after all, he suggested it."

Laughing arm in arm, the trio left the Tower.

***

Seen from above, the black Jaguar was out of place. It was the only moving black spot in the almost deserted expanse of green fields and trees. On the wheel, Lucius Malfoy smiled as he heightened the speed. As a Pureblood and a Slytherin, he had all the contempt for Muggles and their tasteless little gadgets that they use to improve their pathetic, unimportant lives. Except for cars. Lucius loved them big, fast, and expensive. While driving on a deserted country road, allowing him to go as fast as he wanted with his roaring engine, he found the exhilaration almost... orgasmic.

It was just a pity that it wasn't a pleasure shared by his son. He was incredibly proud of Draco--a true Slytherin through and through. But sometimes, the boy needed some guidance. Hogwarts had softened the young Malfoy with its bevy of simpletons. Lucius snorted, thinking of his old house which now included a number of students whose families he never really approved of. That brought his mind back to the reason why he was making this trip in the first place

Soon, his destination was in view. The large Tudor house lorded it over the sprawling countryside with its smattering of dwellings--not much different from the Malfoy Manor when it came to glory.

Lucius slowed his pace as he approached. There really was no hurry.

***

Inside the house, Taylor waited impatiently. He glanced at the large ornamental clock floating eerily above the fireplace. As usual, Lucius was late. Sometimes, he wondered if the bastard got some satisfaction out of flouting Taylor's obsessive rules on punctuality. But one never really knew with Lucius. He wasn't one to confide in others--even to those he called "friends." But one thing was sure: he served the organization well.

Taylor stood and paced around the room, his heels clicking on the stone floor. His height was formidable, his shoulders wide and lean, sturdy bones framing his muscular physique. Clearly, he wasn't a man one wished to reckon with.

He heard the swing of the door and sensed the quiet footsteps of his newly arrived comrade behind him. He didn't turn around to face his visitor as he frowned blackly at the wall.

"You're late."

"Your clock isn't accurate."

Frowning even further, Taylor finally turned and jerked his head to the door.

"It's this way."

The two men left the study and headed for the basement. Down there, the air was chillier, and Lucius shivered slightly. Taylor didn't seem affected by the temperature change. He just unlocked one of the large, almost-rotten doors with an ancient-looking key. Before pushing it open, he turned to Lucius.

"The others have agreed with the plan."

"You had a meeting without me." It wasn't a question. Lucius' lips thinned, the change almost imperceptible.

Taylor waved his had. "It was just to officially agree on what we've already discussed before. They voted that now is the time for action. Besides," He glanced at the blond man. "you were busy this morning."

Lucius chose not to reply. He was annoyed with the Death Eaters' meeting without him, but it would be useless to tell Taylor this. The man had a mind of his own, and often, he found it enjoyable to challenge Lucius' authority--which was totally unnecessary given that they were both given the same responsibility as soon as their great leader had been destroyed.

After Voldemort's death, their organization had undergone a massive upheaval. The numerous wizards and witches that joined them right after Voldemort's resurrection had either died, gone to prison, or bailed out. From almost a hundred, their numbers had dropped to a mere six--the loyal, original members who remained alive. They had lain low for a while, unwilling to create more trouble for themselves lest the Ministry decide to slap more charges against them. Naturally, the reins of leadership had passed to Taylor and Lucius--Voldemort's two right-hand men.

"Did you talk to Draco?" Taylor asked as they entered the dank, underground passageway.

"Yes, I did. He loved his mothers' cooking."

"You know that's not what I meant, Lucius," Taylor snapped as he took a torch from the wall and lighted it with his wand. "Did he decide to join us?"

"My son shall not be a part of our affairs until he decides to participate freely," Lucius replied with finality, his tone offering no room for rebuttals.

Taylor seemed to get the hint. "You're very fortunate with your son. Mine does not now where to lead himself."

"I'm sure Gregory would find his way in time."

After that, the topic was closed. The two men walked along the narrow brick passageway, holding a torch each. The walls were slimy and damp with moisture, and the whole place had a lingering smell of vintage wine. Even the floor was wet, as Lucius could hear the faint splashing of water against his boots. They passed a number of narrow doors that led to other areas of the basement.

"This place had been my family's cellar for hundreds of years. Some of the best wines in the world are still cased in these rooms--just waiting for man to enjoy them."

They walked for more minutes in silence. Lucius was beginning to wonder how many miles must the cellars occupy underneath the mansion when Taylor stopped. He put his hand against a door. This one was different from the others. It was made of metal and thickly coated with rust.

"My father hid it here years ago, when Our Lord was just young and not as powerful as he had been."

Taylor took a chain from underneath his robes. A large, silver key hung around his neck on the chain. With it, he unlocked the metal door and pushed it with all his might. The door creaked and protested noisily against the forced movement that disturbed its decades of sleep. They entered the room, which seemed to be mustier than the passageway. Lucius wrinkled his nose as he stepped up one of the steps.

"What's in this room, anyway?"

"I'm not entirely sure myself. But my father told me that I'd know when to open it once the time comes that I should. Now our young Lord is back. Isn't that an indication?"

"Perhaps," Lucius replied noncommittally.

They looked around the room, swaying their torches to provide the light for their search. It seemed empty and after a few minutes of poking and looking around, the two men were starting to lose hope.

"It's empty," Taylor voiced out, disappointed.

"Wait a minute!" Lucius bent and brushed a portion of the wall. "I think there's something here. This part of the wall looks a bit off."

They dug their fingernails into the wall, trying to remove the layers of dirt that had accumulated over the years. After what seemed like an eternity of scraping and bloody fingertips, they pried loose a brick, revealing a cavity that had been put there for concealing something. Excitedly, Lucius reached inside and brought out a shabby looking box. It looked like a miniature chest that had seen its share of glory a long time ago.

Taylor broke the lock, and with baited breath, they opened the chest.

Dumbstruck, they stared at the contents, their mouths opened slightly. It was Taylor who first spoke.

"It's a dagger."

"A very dirty dagger," Lucius added.

Indeed, the dagger did look unremarkable in its ordinariness. The cheap molded handle was chipped in many places. The blade itself was dented and dull. Moreover, it was covered by a layer of crusty, rust-looking dirt.

Lucius took the rolled piece of parchment that lay beside the dagger and handed it to Taylor. "Here. Maybe there's something here that explains it."

They quickly skimmed through the letter. It was just a short message written by Taylor's father about the dagger. But, brief as it was, the letter carried a heavy meaning for the two Death Eaters. They stared at the dagger with new respect.

"This was it. The dagger he used for his transformation rituals." Taylor's voice reverberated with awe. He took the box gingerly and touched the tip of the handle. "He must have traveled with this all over the world in his early days."

"It has his blood on it. And not just blood, it includes the components of his rituals." Lucius' grey eyes were unreadable as he voiced the thought that had been playing in their minds. "Our Lord could live once more."

"Ah, yes." Taylor nodded. "The boy."

Without warning, the dark-haired man pointed his wand at the dagger and muttered.

"Lazarus."

***

"You lost control back there." Dumbledore greeted Tom with those words as soon as the boy entered his office.

Tom started guiltily. He didn't realize that the Headmaster knew about his emotional upheaval and his ability to influence the physical world with it. He mentally berated himself. Of course he knows, Tom, you idiot. He's been fighting against Voldemort for years.

"I'm sorry, Headmaster. I'll take care not to repeat that again."

Dumbledore looked at Tom thoughtfully, his bushy white brows meeting in concentration.

"Tom, my boy, is there something you wish to tell me?"

Tom raised his eyes from the desk to meet Dumbledore's faded ones. They were old, yes, but wiser and more astute than any eyes Tom had ever seen. In his younger days, fifty years ago, Dumbledore did not have this tired air of exhaustion. But now, it seemed that he had seen too much and knew evil too well to be fooled.

The silence hung heavy between them as the old wizard waited for his response.

"No, Headmaster. I'm perfectly well," Tom answered finally. His voice rang clear with no sign of deceit. He smiled slightly to assure the Headmaster of his well-being. "I was just bothered earlier when I remembered something. But, it's all right. I have it under control."

"Very well." Dumbledore gave him a resigned smile. "Perhaps I've just been worrying too much. Trying to rebuild the magical community after the war is no easy job. Just take care not to alarm the whole school in the future when you're feeling too excited."

"I shall remember that."

Tom gave him a last wave before leaving the office. He took his time walking back to his room, as he thought of what he just told the Headmaster. Had he made the right decision in not telling him about his memories of Voldemort?

You did not need to worry him, he told himself. All that happened in the past, even Dumbledore would not have been able to do anything about it.

He decided not to worry about it any further as he entered his quarters.

At the same time, while Tom just closed his door, a Death Eater miles away pointed on a dagger and murmured a curse.

Tom was just about to enter his bedroom when it hit him. A blinding white pain pierced his skull and traveled all the way in torturous bursts all over his body. He fell to the floor in all fours, gasping as the pain receded. Instantly, wave after wave of pain struck him as he yelled in suffering, helplessly collapsing on the floor.

He tried to open his eyes through the agony. Everything was covered in a haze of red. Trying to get back on his feet by using the door to prop himself up, Tom caught sight of his arms. They were crimson, streaming with blood that seemed to flow endlessly from himself. He stared at his body in horror. There was blood everywhere! They traveled in thick rivulets from gaping wounds on his arms, his torso, and his legs, soaking his clothes and spilling all over the stone floor.

He screamed, tearing his clothes off blindly as he stumbled, unable to find his way through the torment that he was going through. With the desperate instincts of the dying, he grabbed on the door knob--the nearest physical thing in reach--opened it, and launched himself into the unknown.

***

Harry was just about to leave with his friends when he remembered that he had forgotten something. He had a gift for his godfather that he bought days ago while shopping with his friends. The amber cloak was something he knew Sirius would appreciate. Not wanting to show up at Sirius' place without the cloak, he bid Ron and Hermione to go on ahead, promising to follow them as soon as he got the cloak from Gryffindor Tower.

He headed for his dormitory cheerfully, his mind on the celebration they would have later when suddenly, darkness flooded the castle. Harry started, knowing that the school was lighted by magic so it couldn't possibly be an electrical upsurge. He wondered at the coincidence of the shaking that happened earlier when, just as quickly as it disappeared, the lights came back again.

Before Harry could get his bearings back, a very naked sixteen-year old boy threw himself from his room and ran straight into Harry's arms.

-TBC-