Chasing Harry

Chapter 11: Take me Home

Harry stared at Tom, rubbed his eyes, and stared again. His head gaze swung from the cottage to the teenage boy lying beside him on the grass. He still couldn't believe that he was alive after seeing Lucius Malfoy cast the unmistakable Avada Kedavra at him. Not only was he alive, it appeared that Tom had managed to transport them both into a totally different time and place.

He glanced back at the cottage. It looked so warm, so inviting. The red-tiled roof was littered with leaves from the trees and wildflowers grew on the level ground around it. Trees surrounded the place for as far as he could see, and he knew that they must be in the middle of a forest. A million questions hung from his tongue, longing to be asked... but there was something more important that he had to take care of first.

"Are you all right?" Harry stood and crouched beside Tom, worried. The boy was still in the same white sheet that Harry wrapped him into and he didn't seem to have the strength to stand after their recent ordeal.

"Yes," Tom closed his eyes. He knew how he must look. As weak as he was, he felt something--an alien power in his body that was changing him in ways that he couldn't imagine. Inside, he was afraid--afraid of the unknown, afraid of the things the dark-haired man in the mists whispered in his dreams, afraid of himself. But could only be thankful that he was alive.

"What have they done to you?" Harry asked, a note of anger seeping in this voice. He couldn't believe that the Malfoys had done this to Tom. They were supposed to watch over him this Christmas--he was their guest, for heaven's sakes! But the lying villains had only managed to trick him into their plans.

"I'm not sure." Tom coughed repeatedly. The long hours of exposure to the cold was taking its toll. His eyes widened, imploring Harry to help him. "Could you help me inside? I don't think I can get in by myself?"

"Yes, yes, of course. I should have thought about that minutes ago." And, slinging Tom's arm over his shoulders, Harry entered the cottage.

***

"What day is it?"

Harry looked up. They were the first words Tom had said in the three hours they had been inside. As soon as Harry tucked him into bed in the only bedroom and covered him with warm blankets, the Slytherin had slept like a log. Harry had taken the time to explore the small cottage and found it surprisingly habitable. Everything was provided--sheets, furniture, plain robes in the closets, and even food in the pantry--and the place was kept clean, as if the person living here had just left to purchase something and would be back shortly. "You're awake. When I last checked the date, it was December twenty-four. That was the night I followed you to Malfoy Manor. That was hours ago so it must be the twenty-fifth now, although," Harry peeked out of the curtained windows, "it doesn't seem to be. There's no snow, and I'm quite sure there was a bit of snow."

"The date is probably right. Although it's a little hard to accept that I've barely spent more than a day in that place. Time drags when one is in pain, and mere minutes tend to last forever." Tom cleared his throat. He was still on the bed, and Harry had sat beside him the whole time he rested. He still couldn't believe that the Gryffindor boy would treat him so kindly, as he sure hadn't done anything to merit his kindness. "This house is outside our world. Someone who looked for it won't find it, and only the person who created this would know how to get here."

"You said this was your home. Did you build this yourself?" Harry asked. He was honestly curious about the place, and Tom's brief explanation only made it more intriguing.

"It is. Voldemort made it," the other answered. "I... He never had a real home so he made one for himself. Here, there is no sense of time, and one could stay for a long period just resting. I learned how to get here after staying so long inside him." He looked around. "I guess it's mine now."

Harry nodded, suddenly aware of how sad the statement sounded to him. How lonely had the real world become that a wizard--a powerful Dark Lord even--would find the need to create a magical respite just to have a "home"? Still, it was a proof of just how powerful Tom was, even at this young age. Harry knew nothing of creating such places. He didn't even know that it was possible.

"Voldemort had some taste," Harry smiled slightly. "I wouldn't have thought of this place as his."

"Ah, yes, one would expect the proverbial dark and cavernous castle to go with the image," Tom raised his brows. "But when it came to things like this, he still retained my earlier dreams of home. Powerful or not, he didn't need much--just a cozy place to stay... or hide, most of the time. He couldn't get here without a body, though."

"Hide." Harry frowned. "That's what we're doing right now."

Tom only said, "You want answers." When Harry nodded silently, he continued, "I know little, but I'll try to tell what I do know. It's a pity really, I should have expected it. It seemed that I was deceived by the lure of things I never had. It brought down my guard a bit," he said bitterly.

"Are you strong enough?" Harry asked. He moved from his chair and sat on the bed. "You could barely stand earlier."

"I can talk." He didn't want to be reminded of his weakness. Raising a hand, Tom suddenly said, "Accio Mirror!"

To Harry's amazement, a hand mirror with a wooden casing from the bureau flew into his hand. "You don't have a wand! How did you do that."

"I was just testing whether my suspicions were correct." He stared at his reflection, noting the red eyes, the pale skin, and the tired look on his face. He put the mirror down in disgust. "I no longer need one for minor spells, I would just need it for casting Killing Curses and such. Although, using a wand consumes less energy, making it more ideal, but it's hardly necessary." He almost laughed at the look on Harry's face. "Don't worry... I won't be casting a wandless Unforgivable any time soon."

"You better not," Harry retorted archly. His features softened as he asked a moment later, "What have they done to you?"

"Nothing I haven't done to myself before. Or, rather, what Voldemort did to himself." Tom laughed (bitterly, Harry thought). "It's funny... I kept on denying it. No, I am not Lord Voldemort. I will never be Lord Voldemort. I was so tortured by the thought of turning into him that I spent months trying to *not* be him. I must have seemed like a paranoid parrot to everyone, insisting over and over again that I won't ever repeat the past--that I deserve to live and have a place among the very people who fear me." He paused calmly, thoughtfully. "But you know, Harry, I was wrong. I can't run away from who I was--who I am. No matter what I do, Voldemort will always be within me, and I can no longer pretend that I can separate the two of us anymore.

"During the past two nights, they performed a ritual--the first in a long list of transformations that Voldemort undertook in the past to change himself into the powerful creature that you knew. I can feel it, Harry, I can feel it in me." Tom pushed the blanket down to his waist, took Harry's hand, and placed it flat against his warm chest.

And Harry heard, or rather, felt it. The powerful surge of something magical in Tom's body, the erratic beating of his heart--loud, strong, and completely different from his own. He sensed this difference, this feeling that Tom was somehow more than he was--yet still the same.

"I can see the wizard whose power he joined with me in my dreams. To him, it's a gift. It appears that he deems me to be a worthier successor, thinking that I can continue the work he has accidentally abandoned with his death." His lips quirked slightly, as if he found the thought of it as funny. He covered Harry's hand with his own. "You must hate me now."

"Why would I?" Harry whispered softly. He was still entranced, the beat of the heart beneath his palm roaring in his ears. He tried to focus on Tom, just concentrate on what he was saying.

"Am I not a danger to you?" Tom asked earnestly, more curious than threatening.

"I don't see why I should think that way." Harry tugged his hand away. He didn't want to, but he was feeling dangerously closer to Tom with every second they spent together. Yes, Tom was danger to him, but not in the way the dark-haired boy meant. "You haven't done anything wrong. And I don't think you will," he finished before the other could interrupt. Harry stood. "We'll finish our conversation after you rest."

"But I just woke up," Tom protested. He suddenly winced as he felt something ache in his body.

"You need more sleep. Proper sleep." Harry yawned. "I need mine, too. Go on, I'll see you in a few hours." Without another word, Harry left and shut the door behind him.

Ten minutes later, he was still there, his back on the bedroom door, digesting everything that Tom had told him. It was more than he had thought. The remaining Death Eaters clearly had plans to resurrect the Dark Lord and transform Tom into his other self--whether he liked it or not. He shuddered at the thought of what might have happened if he had not arrived in time to take Tom away from all that. But, surely, whether Harry appeared or not, Tom would not act the way they'd want him to, having enough power of his own to stand by his choices against his former allies. Or would he?

Harry shook his head. It was no use thinking about what could have happened. What he had said earlier was true, he needed his rest. Parking his tired body on the couch, Harry suddenly remembered the school. By now, they would have discovered that he was gone. Ron would be so worried. For a moment, he regretted not telling his best friend anything before he left. He had not expected to be gone this long. But it was too late now. He would have to explain when he got back.

And with that thought, Harry drifted off to sleep.

***

"Don't panic, Ron," the red-haired boy whispered to himself. "Harry may just be here somewhere." He entered their bedroom and looked under and over the beds for what seemed like the hundredth time that day. He opened the door to the bathroom and checked. Nope, no Harry. He had already checked the whole Gryffindor Tower and asked everyone he encountered is they saw Harry. Still--nobody seemed to know where his best friend was.

Drat! They were supposed to be at the Christmas Eve dinner last night. Only Harry had not shown up without even saying anything which was highly unusual in itself. Ron had chalked it to exhaustion caused by the Christmas Eve afternoon Quidditch game. Now it was Christmas, and Harry was still missing.

Who could possibly want Harry at this time? Ron wondered. The war was over, and the worst of Harry's enemies were either dead or in prison.

He sifted through the stuff on Harry's perpetually messy bed. No matter how often the house-elves made it, Harry always managed to muss it up one way or another. And those elves had been busy this Christmas, resulting in unmade beds for nearly two days. Tossing an ugly grey sock away, Ron dug through the thick comforter and pulled out a--

A Slytherin scarf?

Why would Harry have a Slytherin scarf in his hands?

And then he just knew.

His face set grimly, Ron marched out of the room.

***

"What do you mean he's gone?" She sounded shrill and she knew it. But how could anyone blame her? She could just see all her plans fall from her silver Christmas tree and crumble on the Gryffindor carpet. This was not what she wanted to hear. Her eyes wide, Ginny gripped her brother's sleeve a little tighter. "I thought he was just in bed with a little indigestion?"

"Well that's just what I said." Ron shrugged her off uncomfortably. "I said that because I thought he was in some place he didn't want anyone to know. I thought I should just make some alibi for him and he'd be back in a while."

"Can he be just playing around? Hiding out somewhere as a joke?"

Ron looked at her steadily. "Ginny, by tonight, he would have been gone for two days. That's not like Harry." He paused. "The strange thing is, I can't find any signs that he was abducted. Certainly, the windows were shut tight against the snow. And no one can just walk in and Apparate out of Hogwarts. He must have left on his own accord."

"This is preposterous! Why would he leave?" She was starting to get really worried. If he wasn't kidnapped... Was he with someone else?

"I don't know." He was really puzzled. Something was niggling at the back of his mind but he didn't tell her about the Slytherin scarf. Not yet. It could be that Harry was seeing a Slytherin and didn't want anyone to know. As for which particular Slytherin--Ron didn't really want to think of Tom that way. "Maybe he's just with Sirius. I'll go over there as soon as I can."

"Please tell me if he is." She had calmed down somewhat. Yes, maybe she was overreacting. Of course he was just with his godfather. Ah, how silly could she be?

Ron walked away with a slight feeling that something was off. He was glad that his sister was so concerned about his best friend. But if it wasn't like Harry to leave for long periods unannounced, it also wasn't like Ginny to get riled up over a simple disappearance. Their own brothers Fred and George had vanished for longer periods before and Ginny had always reacted with the utmost calm. And sure enough, the twins always reappeared pretty much unharmed, except for a few minor damages here and there from their dealings with whoever their latest underworld friend was.

Maybe she was just frazzled.

He wasn't just walking around. He had somewhere to go, for he had just heard that a certain someone had arrived a little early--someone he particularly wanted to see. He knocked hard on their door. No one but him would be around today.

"Malfoy!" Thump. Thump. "I know you're in there!"

He knocked harder for a few minutes before the great door of Slytherin Hall opened to reveal a very irate Draco Malfoy. "What's with the disturbance, Weasel?" He sneered at Ron, looking at him condescendingly. "Sorry but we don't accept solicitations."

"Sod off, Malfoy." Ron raised his arm and held the door, preventing Draco from slamming it on his face. "I need to ask you a question."

Draco raised a brow. "Ooh, the poor boy needs my help?"

The blood rushed to his face, and Ron had to fight the urge not to pummel his pointy smirk down to the stone floor. He kept his gaze floating somewhere above Draco's ear. "Why are you here? It's barely after Christmas."

"What's it to you? It's none of your business." Draco tried to close the door and failed. Ron's considerable advantage in size proved to be useful. Draco sighed, "Fine, if you must know. I decided to spend the New Year here. Happy?"

Ron met his eyes slowly. "I need to see Tom Riddle."

Draco's expression closed. He looked at Ron warily before replying. "He's still in the Manor."

Warning bells tolled in Ron's mind but he tried to keep his face impassive. "Oh, is he really? With just your father."

Draco folded his arms over his chest. "You're getting far too inquisitive for a casual afternoon chat." He pushed the door with all his strength and stopped while it was still opened slightly. "I'll tell him you asked for him."

"Tell him..." Ron thought for a moment. "Tell him it's about Harry Potter."

Draco stilled. "What about Harry Potter?"

"Nothing you should be concerned about."

He shrugged away Ron's cryptic remark about Harry. He wasn't interested in Harry--only with the things Harry might have done which affected him or the people in his circle. Ah, you lie, Draco, his traitorous self whispered. But with Harry here in Hogwarts, he wasn't really a problem. His father and the other Death Eaters were the problem.

And as he watched Ron Weasley walk away, Draco couldn't stop the feeling of relief that crept over him--despite himself. The conversation (if one could call it that) went rather well. He made Ron know, without seeming like he volunteered any information, that Tom was in potential danger.

He closed the door behind him, smiling coldly. In a way, he didn't betray his father. He didn't even say anything concrete.

With a calming breath, he dug into his pocket and held the wand that he kept there. The other wand. He had found it on the floor of the library--and at that moment, he knew that Tom had not gone willingly.

He had left the manor as soon as he could. No one would notice anyway. Lucius would barely register his absence. His mother would understand. Vincent and Greg had each other to amuse themselves. And Tom...

He grinned faintly, with pride. He knew Tom would find a way out. Lucius had been silent but Draco knew his father well enough to understand his black mood. He had hardly seen Lucius since their talk. And he had not seen Taylor at all. But he heard well enough, especially behind closed doors. They were probably looking for the one they had lost.

Tom would need his wand. When he comes back.

And Draco would bide his time.

TBC