The Sun Sets Twice Again

Chapter Twelve

The next three hours were a matter of hurried action and a lot of sitting around. Harry *hated* waiting, he decided. If the waiting had been bad at the Dursleys it was absolutely driving him mad now that he knew what he was waiting for. Dumbledore kept making calls by the fireplace for the first thirty minutes, then half a dozen aurors arrived and everything had settled down. It was like that, grown wizards standing around like nothing was happening, like nothing big was about to happen, when a note had appeared out of nowhere, stating the intended location and the exact time as well as the entrances and exits in case something didn't go quite as planned. The Aurors had left then. It wasn't until Dumbledore announced that the aurors should be off Hogwarts property and fully apparated at the location that by now that Tom had entered the room and sat down at the chair next to Harry's.

"I told Lucius not to play with the Muggles until I returned," Tom said. "So they're safe, more or less."

That was all he had said until one of the aurors had flooed back and informed Professor Dumbledore that Peter Pettigrew and Lucius Malfoy were in custody for three counts of the Imperius Curse between them. Despite having been warned about Pettigrew, the relatively young auror rather looked like he had seen a ghost. Harry got the feeling a lot of people were going to look like that in the next while. The auror went on to say that they were both being questioned under veritaserum at the moment, by order of the Deputy Minister of Magic and that the Minister of Magic Cornelius Fudge would not be informed of the proceedings until they were finished. Dumbledore nodded, requesting that three copies of the interrogations be made: one for him, one for official records, and one on a twenty-four hour time release to the Daily Prophet just in case. Tom smiled at this, at the great Albus Dumbledore quite possibly resorting to blackmail. Harry felt like his Gryffindor sensibilities should be shocked or insulted but, really, he wasn't that naïve or self-righteous. When the auror was flooed off again, back to wherever they were keeping the traitorous rat and Malfoy Dumbledore turned his attention back to the two boys sitting in his office. Harry felt like he could breathe freely for the first time since Tom had brought up the plan, once again ignited the hope of freeing his godfather, and it seemed the Dumbledore felt a similar sense of relief, though his was tinged with concern. Harry wasn't going to bother being concerned with that for the moment as it was entirely out of his hands and if he worried about it he was going to drive himself insane. Better to focus on what was happening now.

"Do you have any suggestions for the location of the room?"

Harry didn't. Actually he was thinking that that was an awfully random thing to ask, given everything else that was going on. Tom suggested somewhere in the dungeons, because not even the Slytherins really liked to explore there much, apparently. This had lead to Dumbledore asking if Harry was okay with that suggestion, in a tone of voice that clearly expected him to say 'no', but after Harry had thought about it he decided he was okay with it because at least in the dungeons they'd be away from everyone. If it did take long enough for term to start he didn't want to have to answer questions about this, and Ron would never voluntarily come into the dungeons. Once again, this left as a risk the possibility that Hermione might find out anything, and everything, Harry just didn't feel like, or couldn't, tell them.

Frankly, he was sick to death of being interrogated about his life, usually because it was promptly followed by being abandoned to something or other, including but not restricted to the Dursleys. He honestly knew they meant well, that they cared, and he just...didn't. He still cared for Ron and Hermione, of course, he loved them like they family he wished they were. He felt the same about the Weasleys as a whole, really. Sirius and Remus Lupin as well, even Dumbledore. His pretend family, his salvation...his damnation? Yes, he still cared for them very much, even if they were using him. Not that they knew they were using him, not really, because they meant well; they thought they were doing the right thing, they didn't think they were being selfish or that they were betraying him. What they believed was right for him was right for him, of course, even if he didn't want it at all, because, yes, they cared for him. He just didn't much care for himself anymore. It wasn't guilt. He knew, and believed, that he wasn't responsible for Cedric's death-- anyone else Voldemort killed to get to him wasn't his fault either. He had also known that by the time Voldemort did get to him, he needed to be ready; no matter what it took he had to be prepared for the final confrontation. He had to be prepared enough to kill Voldemort. He had to get revenge and he had to protect his surrogate family and then, really, he had to die. The world would go on without him, Ron and Hermione would have each other, and he'd finally be with his parents. Everything would work out.

Then, of course, Tom Riddle entered the situation. Not as a memory trapped in time and lies, but as flesh and blood and bone. Killable. That's what Harry had thought: he was killable. Dumbledore would probably be disappointed with Harry if he did that, though. Plus, he'd survive if it was a surprise for Riddle. That would be bad. Not that he wanted to die...not really, but he didn't want to live as a killer. Though, with this bond it was possible that he wouldn't live anyway. Oh, yes, and Dumbledore had *known*-- known about the bond and what could have been its catch-22. Harry wasn't happy about that. He wasn't sure how he knew that Dumbledore knew, exactly, but it had seemed blatantly obvious that he had.

'Then you really would be a martyr!' Yes, yes he would; not because he was doing it willingly, not for the noble definition, the willingness to die for a cause, but for the other definition: because he was a victim. Dumbledore's victim. Gryffindor's victim. Society's victim. So, nothing new, really. He'd been the involuntary martyr his entire life.

They were standing now, going to leave the office for a room. Dumbledore said he had just the place and Tom had looked skeptical. Actually, Tom had looked vaguely annoyed, but Harry knew he felt skeptical. He had to agree with Tom; now that he knew what was going on, he didn't particularly want anyone else's emotions in his head, either. Maybe they could figure out a way to block it. As they walked past the stone gargoyle Dumbledore put a hand on Harry's shoulder in a gesture Harry was certain was meant to be comforting. He managed to force himself not to flinch, but walked a little faster and tried not to look like he wanted to get away. He really didn't want to be touched. Not like that, not intentionally. Tom had been okay; it was casual, without purpose, natural. Plus, he could tell that Tom didn't much like to be touched either.

They, Tom and he, had too much in common for comfort, and he wasn't at all sure what that meant. It'd been easier before, before this Tom had shown up. What had happened to the boy in the chamber of secrets? The one who still, despite a difference of over fifty years and memories, wanted him dead for 'defeating' him? Wanted him dead just to prove a point? Why didn't this Tom think that way? Or did he and was just acting now? No; he could feel it in the bond, after all, you couldn't fake emotions inside your self on purpose could you? Tom didn't want him dead. In fact, mostly the other boy ranged from amused to annoyed and back again. All very calm and adapting. Or maybe it just looked that way in comparison to Harry's own raging emotions.

They were deep in the dungeons, though Harry hadn't been paying enough attention to be able to say where, exactly, and probably couldn't find his own way out now if he tried. Suddenly Headmaster Dumbledore stopped in front of a wall. He tapped at the stones, explaining how to enter the room and how to change the sequence, before the wall cracked open, falling away on both sides. A quick 'incendio' set the candles on the walls blazing, casting light on their surroundings. The room itself was simple, two rooms really, and looked like it had once been someone's bedroom. Now, however, there were only book shelves full of dust-covered books, two reading chairs, and a table. Otherwise the room was bare. It opened to another room, which seemed to contain a toilet and a sink from Harry's vantage point. Dumbledore started muttering words and the dust disappeared, the chair and table legs developed claws which somehow sunk into the stone floor, and the bookshelves molded into the wall. Harry figured it was so no one could dislodge any furniture and send it flying. He wondered if the books could still move. Finally, everything was cleaned up and Tom sat down in one of the arm chairs while Harry sat in the other, and Dumbledore gave some parting words which he barely listened to. When the Headmaster inquired if he would be alright Harry managed to nod and reply he would be fine. He heard Tom reply 'Don't worry, if Harry suddenly decides to try and kill me I can defend myself, and I won't really hurt your precious golden boy' as well, but he didn't bother to reply to that. Then Dumbledore left, and they were alone for the third time, more isolated than before.

Tom was anxious now, his fingers drumming against the outside of his thighs. Harry, forcing himself to stay lucid and calm despite the overwhelming desire to curl up inside of his own mind and let someone else deal with this, could feel Tom's nervousness. As if it was his own feeling but then again not. The emotion was too unreal to be his own; he recognized that even with the surrealism of his own emotions as of late. While he already felt like he was being split into two separate, contradictory pieces, he could sense a third piece, both less and more complete, as well. The third piece was Tom, or a shadow of him, Harry now knew, not some fragmented part of his mind as he had feared earlier. As for the two other parts, he was seriously considering deeming them his Gryffindor and Slytherin sides. It figured that Tom Riddle would bring out the worst of both pieces of Harry: the brash anger of the Gryffindor and the blatant, Slytherin disregard for so-called-helpful suggestions--he's not dangerous, Harry, he's only tried to kill you six times--from the other side. All in all, it left him debating--with himself--why exactly killing Tom Riddle would be a bad thing.

Harry figured that Professor Dumbledore must have some grand delusion of saving Tom from a fate that he had already chosen for himself. Tom didn't *want* to be saved from himself, and if Professor Dumbledore thought that Harry would be able to change Tom's mind he was seriously overestimating Harry's intentions. The more Harry thought about it, which was pretty much all the time anyway, the more he realized that everything wasn't about right and wrong or even just about power. It was about boundaries, the reach of your ability, and your willingness to stretch, change, and mutate these boundaries, even to the point of breaking them. It *was* about power, sure, if power was a living, breathing entity, a changeable force, if power was like energy and magic: constant, absolute, impossible to stop but able to be controlled. If power was that then it was all about power, in a way, but the boundaries were what defined the power; the magic, the energy...they were the complete force of the universe, not in the things you could do, but in the things you couldn't.

The Slytherins weren't a threat because they were all evil, though Ron loved to think so, but because they could incite change. The Hufflepuffs worked for the constant, the stability-- they kept things together when the Gryffindors and Slytherins were trying to kill each other and the Ravenclaws were waiting for an outcome they could work with; and as for the Ravenclaws, they waited...watching, learning, until something came along that they could use-- that would help everyone, that would help regain a lost balance. The Gryffindors were another driving force, causing change of their own, but they were restricted by a sense of 'nobility', by their concept of right and wrong and good and evil. Their self-imposed boundary was a form of protection constructed by the fact that the destruction they caused was either self-righteous or accidental, not purposeful, and therefore they had the scapegoat of good intentions--Merlin knew Harry himself got off on that clause more than once--and that made purposeful intentions paired with destruction evil by default. Harry could see this set-up, this construed truth and falsity behind it, he could even believe it in what he saw, and that was what changed everything, not Tom Riddle being here. It was so much easier when he had been able to ignore it, before Cedric had died because of his own good intentions, before Voldemort had lost, or at least won bitter-sweetly, because of a sense, however perverted it was, of fairness. When he had seen things the way Ron did and Hagrid did, a basic sense of black and white elaborated until it was imposed on everything. He wondered if Snape, who had chosen the side of light in the end after all, saw things the way Harry was seeing them now. If he did Harry didn't really blame him for disliking everyone and trusting no one. It almost seemed the only thing to do now, except Harry didn't have that luxury-- he had an image to maintain as it was, for the good of...well, something. People, for some idiotic reason Harry doubted he would ever grasp, looked at him, at his scar, as a sort of icon. He felt like being iconoclastic himself. He really shouldn't have let himself get so bored this summer that he had read the dictionary from cover to cover, because now he had words to describe all his new feelings of rebellion--or worse, he didn't have the words. He couldn't describe himself anymore; not really, it was hard enough describing his views of other people.

Everything had a place, in its way: truth and lies, now and then, chaos and fate. So, Harry was willing to accept his fate, if not with open arms then with as much courage and false bravado as he could muster. Except fate had a funny way of changing on him, or maybe his perception of it had an odd way of looking at things. His parents had died for a cause that couldn't be lost or won, just continued as war was eternal and a human's nature was to destroy as he or she created- joyfully. Tom Riddle had been shaped by his cause, a cause that was self-destructive, violent, and vindictive, that was just as apt to kill him as it was to kill others. Revenge wasn't just bitter-sweet, it was corrosive; not even immortality could save your soul then...you were tainted. It wasn't about sin or God or truth, really, if you believed in such things. It wasn't soul in the Christian sense of the word, but simply an essence of being. Voldemort had destroyed himself and had been reborn. Voldemort had destroyed himself and Harry had been reborn as well, with his own cause, just as destructive and violent and vindictive. He wanted revenge: revenge against Voldemort, revenge against Peter Pettigrew, revenge against the Dursleys, revenge against life itself, and revenge against death, because death was what had started this vicious cycle. He wasn't so sure he wanted revenge against Tom Riddle, however, and that was complicating everything.

Harry was afraid that if he gave into these feelings of revenge that he wouldn't be able to stop at those who deserved it, but would carry on lashing out at everyone. He was afraid that Tom Riddle wasn't one of those who deserved it. He was afraid that he had no right to decide who deserved it and who didn't. Mostly, he was afraid that he was going to become something he didn't want to be because he was being pushed in more directions than he could handle, and too much was being asked of him; he was just fifteen and scared and didn't really have any idea what the 'right' thing was, let alone if he wanted to do it. What Harry wanted, right now, more than almost anything, was the opportunity to make his own decisions about things, without someone trying to manipulate or coerce or convince him into one side or another, one belief or another, one role or another. He wanted to be invisible and he wanted this all to be someone else's problem, at least until he had a chance to grow up. He didn't have that choice though, because it was his problem now, had been his problem for longer than he could remember, and everyone else seemed entirely too happy to allow it to be his problem as long as it wasn't theirs. He wasn't sure if that was a good or bad thing. He couldn't decide if he wanted everyone to get involved, therefore removing some of the problem from him, or for everyone to go away so that he could actually deal with the problem on his own. The question was, was he even capable of dealing with it on his own?