[From Litha to Lammas]: Iron and Sapphires, Harry/Tom Riddle, R, 2/4
Part One.
Title: Iron and Sapphires (2/4)
Disclaimer: J. K. Rowling and associates own these characters. I am writing this story for fun and not profit.
Pairing: Harry/Tom Riddle, background Lily/James
Content Notes: Massive AU, angst, depression, unreliable narrator, past child death, suicidal thoughts, passive suicide attempt, dysfunctional relationships, child abuse, mindfuck, mental instability, dubious consent, past minor character deaths, violence, gore, Dark Arts, disturbing content.
Wordcount: This part 5800
Rating: R
Summary: After what he did to his brother when he was ten years old, Harry has devoted himself to atoning for it and to doing whatever he can for his younger sister, Amara. When she asks him to steal an artifact for her from the powerful Lord Gaunt, Harry agrees. He doesn’t know what’s waiting for him, or how thoroughly it will end his world.
Author’s Notes: This is one of my “From Litha to Lammas” fics, being posted between the summer solstice and the first of August this year. It should have four parts. Please look at the warnings; this is an extremely dark and disturbing fic.
Thank you for all the reviews!
Part Two
Lord Tom Gaunt stared at the witch in front of him, who had told him that she had a copy of a grimoire written by Godric Gryffindor that described how he had enchanted the Sword of Gryffindor and the Sorting Hat to be the unique items they were. It was becoming more than obvious that she did not, in fact, have anything of the kind, and had lied to enter his presence.
The younger version of him would have punished the disrespect by turning small vipers loose in her bed. As he was now, he felt only a vast and swelling impatience.
“So, you do not have the grimoire with you?” he asked, as he leaned back in his chair and looked at the fireplace to their right. It was made of marble that almost glowed from within, and carved with snakes that had wings and shining horns and might have looked like dragons to the uninitiated. Tom had designed the enchantments that made it give off the maximum possible light and ensured that the fire would never go out.
Magic-the study of it and the creation of it-was the only thing that had brought him any pleasure for many a long year.
“Not with me, no, of course,” agreed the blonde witch whose name he hadn’t bothered to remember. “But I promise that I’ll bring it next time, my lord.” She watched him from beneath lowered eyelashes, smiling in a fashion that didn’t display her teeth.
“And if you forget again?”
“I did not forget, my lord. I simply was not sure if you truly wished to purchase it.”
Tom held back a bark of laughter. She was a little cleverer than the rest of them, who would often pretend that they had forgotten their entire purpose in visiting for the chance to visit once, and then again. But she was still trying for seduction, as were all of them.
They wished to be in his bed, or they wished to share his power, or they wished to serve him, under the impression that that was a quick route to power in the Ministry. But they could offer nothing that entertained Tom for long. He would have needed a courage greater than any of them possessed, a magic greater than was left alive in Britain after he had murdered his rivals, and a soul more tarnished than they were capable of dreaming to entertain him.
Sometimes he thought he should have left Dumbledore alive, simply so the Headmaster would provide him with a challenge.
“So, my lord. Will you permit me to return and present the grimoire to you?”
Tom shook his head. She was a little cleverer than the rest of them, which did not make her his equal. “No. If you wish me to purchase it, then offer it for a price. If you want to keep it, don’t mention it again. But this is a ploy to win my attention, and I have too much to do to permit it.” He stood.
She also stood, only a blaze in her eyes showing her emotions. “My lord-”
“Leave, Miss Hemworth.” Yes, that was her name, Tom was tolerably certain. “Before I get tired of you.”
Her eyes lowered, and the blaze was dimmed. She bowed stiffly to him and scurried out of the room, where a house-elf waited to take her to the Floo.
They were all afraid of him, in the end. Tom turned and stared at the fire, letting his eyes trace the pattern of the carved snakes in an attempt to soothe himself through the marvels of their design. It didn’t work.
Parselmouth, spellcrafter, master of soul magic, master brewer, the only known wizard to hatch a basilisk and rear a black unicorn to maturity in the last three centuries. Tom had reveled in those titles once, and had lived to find another branch of magic he could make his mark on. But the ones that were left, such as Charms, held little interest for him, not when he had done so much that was Dark already.
The fire that Dark magic lays, only Dark magic can feed. That was an old saying Tom had scoffed at when he was a student, but it had turned out to be the truth.
What was left for him now? Hunting down ever more obscure books, finding new paths to immortality that he would research endlessly without taking because they might cost him his magic or his sanity, creating new potions that would never mean as much as they would with an admiring, appreciative audience.
Tom hissed and pushed back from the table. He would walk in the gardens and do what he could to think of new variations on the Arithmantic immortality equations he had been wrestling with for a time. Perhaps they would produce a new turn he hadn’t thought of.
Before he could step away from the table, a hissing alarm went off in his head. Tom blinked and turned around. That was the sound of someone prodding the inner wards, which found threats that were otherwise undetectable. But he had no idea how it could be. Even if someone had managed to bypass the outer wards, they would have met Nyx, and then Erebus, and no one alive could get past both of them.
Of course, perhaps someone had sent a magical construct that could. Or…
Or someone existed out there whom Tom had never met, doing things he had never thought of.
With a feeling he could not name because it had been too long, Tom started towards the inner sanctum where he kept his most priceless treasures.
Two steps away from the dining room, he identified the emotion. It was exultation.
*
“I wish you could do something else to prove yourself to them, kiddo.”
Harry hugged Sirius and stepped away from the point under a spreading hemlock tree on the edge of Lord Gaunt’s extensive gardens, where Sirius had landed them. “I’ll be all right, Sirius. And this is for the best, after all. Right?” He winked at Sirius.
Sirius winked back. Harry had told him that he’d changed his mind about letting the bracelet execute him, but that the only way he could atone was to break into Lord Gaunt’s house and bring his mother some of the ingredients needed for her ritual. Sirius thought he was going to live and had been more than happy to bring Harry here.
Poor Sirius, when he realized that Harry still intended on dying. But Harry was counting on Father and Mum and Remus and Amara to take care of him. Father and Mum would be so different in the wake of Brandon’s coming back to them, they’d be able to show Sirius why he should remain alive.
Everything was going to work out perfectly.
August 23rd, 2003.
The date sang in Harry’s mind, and made him feel like singing, too.
I’ll be free, he thought, as he walked forwards and vaulted gently over the hedge. The wards that guarded Gaunt’s house gathered about him at once, like a flock of birds, but found nothing magical in him and wandered away again. Of course, they would assume that no Muggle could even come this close, since Gaunt’s house required Apparition to approach.
I wonder what the afterlife is like. Will I be able to look down and see Mum and Father and how much they love Brandon? I hope so. I hope I’ll be able to answer if they call me, and help Brandon in his quest to become the best wizard alive.
The garden in front of Harry was quiet and not as dark as he’d anticipated. Long rows of flowers as white as moonlight stretched out in front of him, shedding a soft light that illuminated the grass around them in silvery coronas. Each one individually was dimmer than the stars, but together, they created enough light for Harry to keep to the paths of crushed black and silver stone and avoid the hedges, the reflecting pools in the shapes of stars and pentagrams, and the occasional gnarled hump of roots that led up to a tree.
Something crunched and stirred ahead of him, and Harry paused, ducking down in the shadow of a hedge. He saw no lights ahead of him, which probably meant it was a magical creature hunting by sound or scent. He had brought a small vial of Pungent Potion with him, which covered his own scent with that of earth and dead leaves, and so he took it out of his robe pocket and opened it to drip carefully on his hands.
“Where are you? I know you’re there, intruder.”
Harry blinked and changed his mind about the magical creature. The only ones that could speak aloud with that level of clarity and understanding were the humanoid ones like goblins and house-elves, and they would probably be hunting him with spells instead. He still wiped the potion clean on his hands and stored the vial before he stood up, though. He had a few plans to make it past one of them, as well.
Something obscured the light of the moonflowers, and Harry stared in frank horror as he saw how huge this thing was. And definitely not humanoid.
Snake, huge snake! his mind shrieked at him as Harry took a small step back. He had no idea how to handle this. Of course he’d thought that Gaunt might have some snakes protecting his house-the man was a well-known Parselmouth-but none this fucking big.
The snake paused and turned its head towards him, bending down. Harry clamped his eyes shut on instinct. The only one that could be this big was a basilisk, and he didn’t want to die by meeting its gaze. He wouldn’t be able to give his body to his mother to assist in the rite to resurrect Brandon, if he did. He had to emerge alive from Gaunt’s house even if it meant leaving Amara’s clock behind.
His mind raced, wondering if he could make it in time to the far end of the garden where Sirius waited and the wards would probably hold the basilisk at bay for a moment.
“Who are you? How did you get through the wards?”
Carefully, Harry spoke. Perhaps the basilisk could be reasoned with, even though he’d never heard of one that could speak. But it would be just like a magical genius like Gaunt to give one speech. “I-I wear an artifact that let me through. Sorry, I-I didn’t know you would be here.”
The basilisk coiled towards him, and Harry kept his head down. He felt something cool touch the top of his head, and started. Was that its tongue? If so, that only emphasized how much bigger it was than him.
“A Speaker. It is so long since I have met one aside from my lord.”
Harry blinked. “So you don’t get many people here?”
“Not people who can speak.” The basilisk sounded oddly definite about that.
It did make Harry wonder, a little, but not enough to stand there and talk all night. “Does that mean that you’ll let me through to see Lord Gaunt? I have urgent business with him, but, well.” Harry hesitated, wondering for a moment if a talking basilisk would be able to detect lies. “I can’t let most people know I’m here.”
“I would not be tempted to let most through, but it would be good for him to receive visits from another Speaker.” The basilisk coiled back, dipping its head loosely as if to look into his eyes. Harry kept his own head down. He heard a sharp hiss that sounded amused, although how he could tell what emotion was in it, he didn’t know. “I am the Lady Nyx.”
“Hello, Nyx,” Harry said, and tried his best to bow and then straighten up without looking her in the eye. “It’s an honor to meet you.”
“As I said,” Nyx went on, “it would be good for my lord to receive a visit from another Speaker, but I am not the one you need to convince. The one you must convince comes.” Her tail angled past Harry, pointing beyond him.
Harry turned, and froze.
Cantering towards him across the paths of the garden was a creature at least half as large as Nyx. Its coat was a smooth metallic black, and its feet looked like hooves with sharply-trimmed edges. Tendrils blossomed around its mouth and twisted in the air as if they had a mind of their own, and Harry could see fangs poking beyond the edges of lips that looked as if they were made of velvety rubber.
But his attention mostly went to the immense, shining black horn in the middle of its forehead, that narrowed to a tip so sharp he couldn’t see it.
Harry swallowed. “What’s his name?” he whispered. He thought remembered reading somewhere that Gaunt’s black unicorn was male.
“Erebus.” Nyx sounded satisfied and withdrew a little. “He will know if you have any malevolent intentions towards our lord, and he will eat you.”
Harry stood as still as he could as Erebus spun from his canter into a smooth trot, circling around him. Harry stood still and tried to think, as hard as he could, that he intended no harm to Gaunt. And that was true. He wanted to get the clock Amara needed and get the hell out of here. It would be perfect if he didn’t even have to see Gaunt on the way, no matter what Nyx thought about visits from “Speakers” being necessary.
Erebus came to a stop with an eerie, silent grace peculiar for a creature so large. He turned his head, and Harry saw his eyes, shining like pools of purple, starlit water.
He examined Harry, twisting his head from side to side, and abruptly snorted and bent down. Harry caught his breath, but the horn projected over and past him as Erebus nudged him with a large nose. Harry had never felt anything so soft or so powerful. It was like being hit with a wave of warm water that left no wetness behind.
Nyx gave another amused hiss. “I forgot that he liked the young ones.”
“The young what?” Harry raised his hand and hesitantly touched the side of Erebus’s face when the unicorn kept nudging. The fur was so soft and smooth that it didn’t feel as if he were touching much of anything.
“The young ones who haven’t mated yet.”
Harry’s face felt as if it had caught fire. At least neither Nyx nor Erebus was human and probably wouldn’t care much about how embarrassed he was.
Of course. A black unicorn is still a unicorn. They still like virgins…
Harry cleared his throat and paid some attention to stroking Erebus. He’d never been with anyone because he’d so rarely been away from the house, and it hadn’t mattered anyway, not when he was going to die young.
Erebus and Nyx must have communicated in some way that Harry didn’t notice, because Erebus nudged him once more, almost making him fall, and then stepped back from him. Nyx said, “We have decided. You may pass us and approach the house. You should remember that our lord needs the visit.”
The emphasis on the last words was odd, but Harry nodded, since he certainly wasn’t intending to visit Lord Gaunt anyway. “Of course. Thank you.” He bowed to both of them, training his eyes away from Nyx as her head tilted.
“You are welcome, young one. I hope that our lord will see the wisdom in having a compatriot and devote more time to speaking with you and collaborative research rather than sitting in one room and brooding.”
Harry held back his laughter. Collaborative research. Sure. Even if Harry had never murdered Brandon, he wouldn’t have had the quality of magic or intelligence to collaborate with Lord Gaunt.
But he nodded as if he understood what she was talking about, and walked towards the house, ignoring the way that he could feel both immense creatures watching him go.
*
Tom walked around the corner of the last corridor before his treasure sanctum with steps as soft as skin. He had drawn his yew wand, and felt the vibration of the magic inside him, passing back and forth between him and the phoenix feather in the wand core like trailing streamers of fire.
It had been so long since he’d had a good duel. He’d been smart with those who could have been rivals to him, and slaughtered them from a distance with another of his creations. But now, now he would come face-to-face with someone who was clever and powerful enough to have bypassed the outer wards and Nyx and Erebus, and who might know obscure magic of all kinds.
Who knows? Perhaps I will even keep them alive in the dungeons to talk with me. I may release them if they prove good company. Trustworthy…
Tom blinked as his fantasies popped like a bubble. In front of the wards to the inner sanctum, which were brilliant golden lines of light that danced on the air in the shapes of dragons with their wings spread for flight, stood an extremely young wizard. He had wild black hair and no drawn wand. He was frowning at the wards as if he had no idea what to do next.
How could someone who isn’t at least my age have got this far?
Tom halted. It was inconceivable both that he could have an equal in a man this young and that the man would be standing here if he didn’t have the cleverness and power to pass the outer defenses.
The stranger abruptly spun towards him. He had wild black hair that seemed vaguely familiar to Tom, and brilliant green eyes that were rather intriguing. At the moment, they were open so wide behind small glasses that they looked as if they might fly out of his face.
“Um. Lord Gaunt. Hello.”
“Who are you?” Tom demanded. He kept his wand drawn, and eyed the man’s empty hands suspiciously. Who was this?
“Someone who came for the clock that you removed from the Parkinson family.” The man eyed him. “I suppose there isn’t a chance that you could give me the clock and I could go away? There doesn’t have to be any unpleasantness?”
His voice was climbing into higher registers than sounded calm. Tom lowered his wand, although he didn’t put it away. “I want to know who in the world you are. And how you passed the wards.” He wanted to ask about Nyx and Erebus, too, but he could speak to them if necessary. And the wards were the first challenge. If he ended up having to kill this man in the resulting duel, he wanted to know what weaknesses in the wards would need shoring up.
“I can leave now.”
“Of course you cannot,” Tom said. He put aside his doubts for the moment. This was probably the man’s strategy, to make himself seem harmless until the point where he could strike out and wound Tom with some unexpected blast of magic. “You came for the clock?” And how interesting that he knew it had been recovered from the Parkinson family.
The man swallowed, and nodded. His eyes darted back and forth apprehensively between Tom’s face and his wand.
“Well, if you win the duel between us, I will give you the clock as a prize. Surely there can be no fairer gesture than that.” Tom fell into a slow pace that he had watched Erebus use more than once, drawing towards the man, ready to see him start to circle and produce his own wand.
The man just stared at him and said, “Duel?”
Tom clucked his tongue. “You don’t need to play dumb. Someone who could get past the wards, and Nyx, and Erebus, would never need to. You came here for the clock, but perhaps you also came here to match your magic against mine. Perhaps you have also felt that you had no equal in the world-”
“In terms of the pain I’ve caused, sure.”
Tom frowned and stopped pacing. This confrontation was not going as he had envisioned it, and he had no idea why. Why would someone who could penetrate his defenses this deeply refuse to duel?
“How did you get past the wards?”
The man hesitated, and then held out his wrist. “I’m wearing an artifact that makes me invisible magically.”
Tom hissed in astonishment as he caught sight of the iron manacle. He’d seen a few like it before, but that had been as designs in books only. He’d had no idea that any family possessed any real ones. He seized the man’s wrist and drew him forwards to examine it more closely.
The more he looked at it, the more differences he saw. The manacles he had seen in the books had had the same general shape, of a sunburst, but the gems they’d been adorned with had been turquoises, not sapphires. The blue color was necessary for the functioning of the manacle, but the sapphires allowed for the imprisonment of far more magic. And the runes beneath each gem were works of art. Tom wouldn’t be surprised if all the man’s magic was contained, which certainly could have made him invisible to the wards and might even had sufficed to smuggle him past Erebus.
That left Nyx unexplained, of course. She had a keener sense of smell than Erebus, and would feel the vibrations through the earth that he would not. But Tom could ask about that in a moment.
“Where did you get this manacle?” he breathed, looking up at the startled green eyes.
The man blinked. “Manacle?”
“It is meant to imprison someone’s magic.” Tom traced his fingers reverently over the runes. “It was once used to subdue powerful prisoners until they could be transported to Azkaban. But I have never seen one like this.” He studied the runes for a moment, noting how some of them were darkened. “Did you wear this for some months, just as preparation for breaking through my wards? I must say that I am flattered. And curious about the depths of your desire for this clock.” The clock was a fine toy, but in truth, Tom’s strike at the Parkinsons had been meant to eliminate Melinda Parkinson, who was a witch of great power and great skill at hiding it. He had only taken the clock so that many would assume the motive had been thievery, and no fingers would be pointed at him.
“I-no. I’ve worn it for years.”
Tom stared at him, and then back down at the runes. He had thought only a few of them were darkened because this man was a powerful wizard who had worn it for a short amount of time.
But now that he looked, he could see that only about half the runes were ones devoted to containment. The rest of the runes powered the containment ones, and gave them the ability to collect more magic than usual and darken more slowly.
Tom shivered a little at the thought of how much power this man must have. And Tom had entirely missed him when he was killing his potential rivals because the manacle had shielded him from detection.
“Do you use magic at all?” he asked softly.
The man seemed shocked at the subject change, and tried to pull away. Tom absently kept him from doing so. It was fairly easy. The man didn’t have the benefit of magic running freely through his body, and although he didn’t look unhealthy, he couldn’t match a powerful wizard with that kind of strength behind him.
“No. I don’t use a wand. I didn’t attend Hogwarts.” The man stared at Tom with wider eyes when Tom didn’t react. “So I’m not a threat. You really can let me go, and I promise that I won’t tell anyone how I got in here.”
“Few people would consider it worth the price to wear a manacle like this, even if they desperately wanted to get past my wards.” Tom smoothed his fingers up and down the man’s wrist, and studied the bracelet in more detail. His eyes widened when he saw the small inner circle of runes at the bottom of the metal pleats, on the side of the manacle that rested against the man’s flesh.
“Did you know that this manacle will kill you?” he demanded, tugging at the metal. No wonder the runes had been built the way they were. It would have been possible to create a less expensive set, both in terms of the gems needed and the magic it took to keep them functioning, but this was meant to eventually destroy the person who wore it.
“Yes, I know.”
The man’s voice was so calm that Tom turned to look back at his face. “Are you hoping to earn your freedom from your captors by taking the clock? We might be able to make a bargain, in that case.”
The man laughed aloud. Tom twitched. It had been a long time since someone had laughed at him-since he had encountered someone who had the courage to laugh at him.
“I’m wearing the manacle because I murdered my brother with magic when I was ten years old and must atone with the sacrifice of my life.” The man looked him right in the eye. “And you can’t offer me anything to take it off. If you remove the bracelet, the explosion of magic will kill you and rip apart most of your mansion. You might as well let me go.”
Tom blinked, slowly. The explosion wouldn’t kill him because he was immortal. But the young man was right that it would destroy part of his house, and some of the precious objects Tom had gathered. That would be annoying.
And then he realized what kind of person stood in front of him. The exact kind of person he had been saying he wanted. Magic enough to challenge him, courage to defy him, and a tarnished soul. It must be, if he was a murderer.
Although that pathetic martyr attitude could stand to go.
Tom began to smile. The man stared hard at him, but didn’t move. Not easily frightened, then. “Tell me how you got past my basilisk and my unicorn.”
*
Harry cleared his throat. So far, Lord Gaunt wasn’t anything like he’d expected.
A tall man with dark grey eyes and dark hair that was combed neatly back from his face and had begun to go silver at the temples-that much, Harry had known about him. But he seemed entirely fascinated with the bracelet and the runes, and hadn’t struck out to bring down the thief in his house, the way Harry had been sure would happen if he’d been so unfortunate as to directly run into the most powerful wizard in magical Britain.
Maybe his fascination with the bracelet would let Harry leave, and fulfill both his promise to Amara to bring back the clock and his promise to his mother to give her his body when he died.
“The unicorn was easier,” he admitted. “He liked me because, um, because of the reason unicorns usually like young people.”
Lord Gaunt stared at him some more. Then he said, “Ah. A virgin, then? But I suppose someone willing to suffer under a manacle like this and do whatever his captors told him wouldn’t have much chance to grace someone else’s bed.”
Harry restrained his glare. It wasn’t as though he could expect Lord Gaunt to understand the situation. “But I think he mostly let me pass because the basilisk vouched for me.”
“Did she, now?” Lord Gaunt’s eyebrow twitched. “Why is that?”
Harry shrugged. “I don’t know exactly. She said that it would do you good to see another Speaker or something-”
Lord Gaunt moved. One moment he was holding Harry’s wrist and looking back and forth between his face and the bracelet. The next instant, he’d tossed Harry back against the wall with a blast of wandless magic and was gripping his shoulders.
“She said?”
“Yes,” Harry muttered, catching his breath. He felt a smug gladness that he wore a bracelet that tamed his power and wasn’t subject to fits of potentially deadly magic like that. Lord Gaunt really should be wearing one, too. “I didn’t know basilisks could talk, but she did.”
“Basilisks can talk, indeed,” said Lord Gaunt. His smile was thin and cruel, mocking. “To Parselmouths.”
Harry started, badly. He knew he wasn’t a Parselmouth. There were no others in Britain except Lord Gaunt.
“I’m not a-”
“Oh? You’re not? Are you absolutely sure?”
“Yes, I’m sure.”
Lord Gaunt laughed, a darkly mocking sound that bubbled out of his throat like a snarl. “My last words were in Parseltongue. And you understood them.” He pressed a little closer to Harry, his eyes shining. “As you understood Nyx. This is magnificent. I must learn how.” And with those obscure words, he pointed his wand at the bracelet Harry wore.
Harry threw himself forwards from the wall. The bastard was not going to break the bracelet and waste Harry’s years of sacrifice.
There was a long moment of mad scrambling when Harry almost got his hands on Lord Gaunt’s wand-not that it would have done him much good even if he had-and Lord Gaunt swung him around by the bracelet with wide eyes, and then Harry ended up pinned to the opposite wall in the corridor with the wand at his throat. Lord Gaunt hissed at him. This time, Harry was concentrating, and he could hear the sibilance to the words, the difference between English and Parseltongue.
“I am not going to break it, you fool. I agree that would be fatal. I am going to cast a spell to show what gifts your magic might have developed under pressure.”
Harry shook his head and braced his feet, ready to push off from the wall again. He spoke, as carefully as he could, in English. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Lord Gaunt seemed to like speaking in Parseltongue, maybe because he was a bastard. “I am attempting to ascertain why you are a Parselmouth. The best possible answer is that your magic, confined and bound, developed in directions it otherwise would not have managed, attempting to exercise itself as well as it could. Parseltongue would be one such direction. But I cannot tell without using a spell to test it. You will let me.”
For all that the last words sounded like an order, Harry reluctantly inclined his head. He didn’t want to let the prick, but it did seem as though he was at a disadvantage here.
He hoped the spell didn’t show any Parseltongue, though, and somehow he’d understood the snake language because of a spell on the bracelet or something. Because the last thing he needed was to have developed a Dark gift despite the bracelet’s binding on his magic.
It might show that the bracelet was leaking. And Harry was going to give his life to prevent that. It had so little worth otherwise.
*
Now he has fire.
For all that the young man was a disgusting martyr, Tom had to smile as he met the blazing look directed at him. He did have enough spirit to make up for his flaws.
If Tom could encourage him to express it.
Tom traced his wand in a circle around the manacle, outlining it and casting with a hiss in Parseltongue. An English version of the spell did exist, but Tom had always found it more effective to cast this in his native tongue; otherwise, it might not show every odd blossom the martyr’s magic had put forth in an effort to save itself.
A replica of the manacle, but larger and more shadowy, formed around the real one. Tom looked at the name floating at the top, first.
Harry Potter.
That was why the hair had looked familiar. Tom had got used to seeing James Potter often enough in the papers, always arguing for some new law or against some relaxing of restrictions when it came to underage sorcery.
And now I know why. There was a pleasure in that, the resolution of a minor mystery.
Tom studied the image of the manacle. It, too, was split into various pleats, and the pleats were brilliantly colored. Each shade represented a different kind of magical power or gift.
Fully half of it was dark blue, the color of pure power. Harry Potter would have been a formidable wizard if someone had not convinced him that his potential must be enslaved and stifled.
Three pleats were verdant green, the color of Parseltongue. Another three were silver, and Tom narrowed his eyes at them. That was the color of a gift for making peace with magical creatures in general, and encouraging them to like him. Tom had only rarely seen people with that gift. But at least it gave another reason beyond his virginity for Erebus to let him pass.
And the last three pleats…
One was deep purple. Two were gold-green, a brighter green than the shade that indicated Parseltongue, with speckles of brilliant yellow in them.
Tom stared at them blankly. He had no idea what they were.
He dismissed the spell and looked back at Harry Potter, who was staring at him with narrowed eyes and looking around as if he thought a fireplace he could use would suddenly appear in front of him.
Tom felt as though his heart was about to beat its way out of his chest.
He had another Parselmouth in front of him. He had someone with powerful magic, who might be his equal if his power wasn’t bound up in that bloody manacle. And someone with gifts he had never seen before. And someone who wasn’t so in awe of the mighty Lord Gaunt that they were cringing before him.
The exultation this time produced a thrill that was almost sexual.
“I am keeping you,” he said quietly.
Harry’s eyes widened and darted back to him. Yes, look at me. You should be looking at me. There is no one else in your life worth looking at, clearly, not if they allowed you to wear this manacle.
“What?” Harry demanded.
“I am sure that you understood me, that you will understand me no matter what language I speak.”
“Fuck off, you bastard.”
Tom smiled and touched his wand to Harry’s temple. “Somnium.”
Harry fought the spell successfully for a moment before his eyes drooped. Tom called the house-elves for help, but held onto Harry for a moment, his hand sliding gently across his right arm above the manacle.
What a treasure. And to think I might have missed him. To think he might have died because of the manacle without me ever knowing about him.
I am beyond glad that he is here.
Part Three.