Chapter 18: Eighteen

Chapter Text

X

Harry sprang into action with a start, running towards the hysterical Marietta.

He crouched down to be on eye level with her. "What's wrong? What's happened?" he asked, though he knew already. He was trying hard not to throw up and/or cry as he glanced down at Cho's still form. Her fingers were still ghosting above the gloves.

"Oh Merlin, she's dead. Please don't be dead, Cho," the Ravenclaw begged, tugging at Cho's cloak.

Draco had come to stand behind Harry; his eyes were wide and fixed on the body, while his muscles were visibly tensed.

Harry took hold of Cho's wrist, though he knew it was pointless, and moved his fingers to press where the pulse should have been; of course there was nothing there. He swallowed the lump in his throat. Marietta was looked at him with desperation, her eyes pleading for him to say there was a sign of life.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, biting down on his lip hard to stop the tears spilling from his eyes. Marietta screamed and laid her head down on Cho's chest. Harry realised she was listening for breathing, having to confirm the death for herself.

"What happened?" Marietta sobbed. "I knew I should have been suspicious about that box; I bet it was cursed, and I made her fall victim to it."

"What box?" Harry asked gently, and Marietta jerked her head at the familiar object scattered on the ground. "Where did she buy it from?" He knew it hadn't been bought from any shop; Marietta didn't know Harry knew that.

"I don't know-she didn't buy it. She came out of the bathroom of the Three Broomsticks with it and said she had to deliver it to Dumbledore." Marietta paused for a moment, her eyes widening as she realised something. "She was Imperiused and I didn't know. This is my entire fault." The girl was wailing now, and Harry awkwardly placed a hand on her shoulder.

"It's not your fault, Marietta," he said gently. Draco was still standing, frozen in the same position. Really, though Draco was to blame, he was as equally innocent at the same time; he hadn't planned for Cho to die, and he certainly hadn't wanted her to, but his plan hadn't been thought out well enough. Harry knew Malfoy would blame himself either way. "We'll go and send for help," Harry continued. Marietta nodded, but she was too focused on Cho to really have understood. Harry grabbed hold of Draco's wrist and pulled him forwards, the blond easily moving with him.

"I didn't want that to happen," Draco said quietly, almost so much so that Harry would not have heard him had he not been so aware of him.

"I know," Harry answered, quickening their pace.

"She had so much life ahead of her; she hadn't even done anything wrong," Draco continued. Harry stopped and turned to the Slytherin.

"It wasn't your fault, Draco," he said firmly. Yes, Draco was to blame, but he didn't need to hear that. He genuinely was distraught at what had happened, and Harry didn't think accusing him would have any good effect. "You understand? It was a horrible accident, but nothing more."

Harry tried to wipe away the tears before Draco could see but it was too late, and the blond pulled Harry into a tight embrace.

"I'm sorry," Draco whispered, "I'm sorry. You've been pulled into the part of my life neither of us wanted you to see."

They stood together for a few moments, taking in the comfort from one another.

"We need to go and see Snape," Draco muttered. "He knows about everything; he'll know what to do."

Harry nodded and they made their way back to the castle again, where Harry flagged down Hagrid as he was the first adult they saw. Hagrid's face dropped when Harry explained a girl had died, and the half-giant took off towards Hogsmede without a second thought.

"Are you sure you want to see Snape?" Harry asked Draco gently, who nodded.

"My mother made him take a Vow to protect me; he could die if he turns me in, depending on how the bond would take it," the Slytherin stated with determination blazing in his eyes.

Harry frowned at that knowledge; Snape really was a Death Eater then? He couldn't be loyal to Dumbledore if he hadn't made any move to work around the Unbreakable Vow to inform the elderly headmaster. James would have a field day if he found out.

"Why did she tell him?" Harry questioned, dropping his voice as they entered the main school; most students were at Hogsmede, but there was still the possibility of being overheard by the younger students or, even worse, a professor.

"She trusts him," Draco answered with a wave of his hand, "as does the Dark Lord."

"I didn't realise he was loyal to the Dark Side," Harry muttered, more to himself than Malfoy.

"I doubt he is," the blond answered, his werewolf hearing enabling to hear Harry easily. "But I doubt he's loyal to Dumbledore either."

"Funny, Tom said the same thing," Harry said, wincing as he realised what he had said.

"Tom?" Draco asked, picking up on Harry's slip.

"Lord Riddle; I can't call him that when we're alone, and I don't like the name Marvolo, in fact, I hate it even more now that Slytherin is using the name too."

"Why Tom? Is that some odd Muggle thing? I suppose I should be surprised you can get away with calling him that, but then again, I doubt he'd kill you for anything." Malfoy froze after he finished speaking; talking of murder must have reminded him of what had happened.

They had reached Snape's door, and Draco knocked on it loudly. The professor answered soon after, and he frowned as he saw them, before ushering them inside.

"Can I help-?" Snape started, but Draco interrupted him.

"I've messed up," the boy said, frantically tugging at his hair. "I've made the worst mistake of my life; I had a plan to kill Dumbledore easily, but I got the wrong person."

Snape's eyes widened and he couldn't disguise the horror that crossed over his face before he managed to control his features.

"What do you mean you got the wrong person?" the professor asked, glancing at Harry.

"I put a curse on a gift, and was going to have it delivered to Dumbledore, but a girl accidently opened it and it killed her instead," Malfoy said quietly; his fists were so clenched that blood was dripping slowly from his palms where his nails were digging into them.

"What girl?" Snape asked slowly, his voice not giving any of his emotions away.

"Cho Chang," Harry answered, keeping his eyes on the floor. "We sent Hagrid down to bring her back."

"Do they have any way of tracing it back to either of you?" Snape pressed on, and the boys shook their head.

"Harry didn't even have anything to do with it; he would be charged with being an accomplice at worst, but there's no way of knowing who was involved," Draco explained quietly, and to Harry's surprise Snape looked somewhat satisfied.

"Good; I do not even want to know why you're involved in this, Harry," Snape drawled as he turned to the brunette. "Your mother would be disappointed if she knew."

"I could say the same about you," Harry muttered, making the Potion's Master frown, and the man did not respond to his comment.

"I will cover for the both of you if I have to," he said instead, "but next time, Draco, do not be so foolish."

X

That evening Harry and Draco went to Malfoy Manor as normal. Snape had agreed to say they were with him if anyone asked, claiming they had been traumatised at witnessing the death. The professor hadn't permitted them to leave his office, but apparently the news of Cho's demise had quickly been spread throughout the school.

The students had been requested to immediately return to Hogwarts from the village, and made to stay in their common rooms until further notice.

Two Aurors had been to see them; Tonks, who Harry had met before, and Mad-Eye Moody, who Harry thought he had met before until they all learnt it had been an imposter.

"It just kind of happened," Draco told them when they were asked to recount what had happened. "We were walking a bit behind them; the girls were arguing, then Cho fell and she started to sit up but then she just fell back down and wouldn't move."

Malfoy sounded convincingly innocent, using enough pain in his voice to suggest that he was upset but trying to hold it in because of his aristocratic status. The Aurors looked at them sympathetically, Tonks even pulling Harry into a hug when he broke down in tears again; his eyes were starting to feel sore from it now.

They were left with no further questions, because considering the nature of the curse, nobody would have even considered two sixteen year olds to be involved.

"I wonder how Voldemort will take it," Harry mused as Draco readied the Portkey. The Slytherin stiffened at the question.

"It's hard to say," Malfoy shrugged, a look of concern crossing his face.

He held up the Portkey, and Harry grabbed hold, allowing the spell to take them away.

When they arrived, Narcissa Malfoy was waiting for them.

She had been considerably more sociable over time, but she still didn't seem to say much. She still hadn't been able to look Draco in the eyes.

She looked incredibly pale, and her eyes were swollen red. Harry wondered if she knew what had happened.

She went to say something, and then stopped. She raised her hand and with a sharp slap her hand connected with Draco's face; Harry didn't have time to see if it had caused a mark, because then Malfoy was pulled into his mother's embrace.

Harry waited awkwardly as Narcissa sobbed into her son, and after a few minutes, Harry was trying to raise the courage to interrupt when a hand landed on his shoulder, making him jump.

He cast his wide eyes back, feeling the tension lift when he saw Tom. Their eyes met for just a second until Tom moved his gaze onto Draco and Narcissa. His expression looked rigid and cold, and he indicated for Harry to follow him without another word.

"Draco is to be joining the main meeting tonight," Tom explained to him once they were at their room. "You shan't want to watch."

"Why; what's going to happen?" Harry asked warily, frowning when Tom's eyes flashed red.

"We soon heard of Draco's failure today," Tom explained airily. "He will suffer the usual punishment for displeasing the Dark Lord, however, at the same time he has, though indirectly, committed his first kill."

"I don't really think he meant to kill her," Harry cut in quietly. He gestured for Tom to continue when the boy threw him a warning look.

"No matter the case, the Dark Lord likes to reward his followers for their first time," Tom continued, and he eyed Harry carefully.

"What does he reward them with?" Harry asked, but Tom smirked at him.

"If I told you, you may as well go and watch. I'll cast a Silencing Spell on the room."

Tom seemed pleased at his decision and left. Harry still wondered what was going on; he didn't have any desire to listen, of course, but Voldemort's idea of a reward was probably not really a good thing.

It was obvious that Draco was no killer, and Voldemort would be able to tell; the so called reward would probably work on Draco's discomfort. Although, considering last time Draco had been involved in something at the Manor it ended up with him a werewolf, Harry didn't think it could possibly be any worse than that, in Draco's eyes at least.

He sighed and settled down into a chair with a book; both cats jumped up onto his lap instantly, nuzzling against him. They both purred loudly, and Harry tossed the book onto the floor, knowing he wouldn't be able to read it.

He gently pushed the cats off him and stood up, creating a make-shift string from material he could find in the room. The animals happily chased after the item, viciously sinking their fangs into the fabric whenever Harry let them catch it.

The animals allowed his mind to rest, and he smiled at their antics. He wondered if that would be how he'd feel when he mastered the Animagus transformation; care free and lively.

He scowled when Orion scratched him suddenly, and before he could tell the cat off; not that it would have any effect obviously, both the felines were hissing, their backs arched as they stared at the window.

Harry slowly reached for his wand, ignoring his pet's growling as he edged towards the window. It was pitch black, and he couldn't see a thing out. He cast a spell to turn off the light, to see if he could see better without the light reflecting.

As he focused on trying to adjust his vision to the dark, a pair of red eyes appeared in the window. He span around, expecting to see Tom standing there with a questioning expression on his face, perhaps, but there was nobody there.

"Tom?" he whispered into the vast darkness of the room. He was met with silence.

He froze as he heard the window behind him starting to rattle slightly, despite the fact there were no gusts of wind.

His skin started to feel clammy, and his heart raced. Harry swore he stopped breathing when the light began to swing violently.

'This must be something to with Voldemort,' Harry thought desperately, sinking to the floor; both the cats were hiding underneath a chair. 'This has to be what Tom didn't want me to know about.' Harry knew that made no sense.

Something cold touched his hands, and he looked down, paling when he saw blood on his fingers, dripping from below the window. He jumped up with a start, wiping his hands on his trousers frantically. Whispering passed through his ears, yet no words were distinguishable.

He stopped his motions as he suddenly felt a chill; he knew he wasn't alone anymore.

He bravely moved his eyes upwards, and immediately wished he hadn't. A tall, slender figure draped in dark cloth was watching him; it moved it's head up enough for Harry to see it's face. The boy gasped in horror.

"Holy fuck," he whispered, clutching his hand over his mouth. This figure, though it was hard to tell, was not anyone he had seen before. The reason it was hard to tell though, was because it had nothing on it's face whatsoever; no eyes, no nose, no mouth. Instead, a cross had been stitched where both the eyes should have been, and a smile was made in a criss-cross style. Blood was still freshly stained around the stitches.

The figure took a step forwards; Harry took one back. The figure was slowly coming over to him, not even flinching when Harry cast Stupefy at it. Every spell he used, whether Ancient or Modern, had no effect on it, so he bolted for the door.

He desperately tugged at the handle, but the door refused to open.

"Alohomora," he shouted, but still, nothing happened.

The figure was nearly to him now, and a cold hand was reaching out towards him, making Harry flee backwards until his legs hit the bed, and he fell onto the soft quilt that was no longer comforting.

He shuffled up the bed, fear coursing through his veins as he realised he was at a dead end.

A strange force pushed him to lie flat, and then long, rusty nails were poking around him, trapping him on the bed.

He looked up, trying to stop himself hyperventilating as the figure stood still, doing nothing more than staring at him.

Then it was gone. Harry looked around, trying to find any sign of it, but there was none. The nails were still around him though, and the air will still cold.

He shut his eyes, trying to find just a moment on peace, and he threw his head back onto the pillow.

Something cold dropped onto his forehead.

His eyes snapped open and his heart stopped.

The figure was above him; it was sprawled across the ceiling, with it's head dropped so he could see each horrifying stitch. Time seemed to stop. The stitches across the mouth began to move, changing into a large 'O' shape, and the skin inside began to disintegrate into rotting flesh, and it started to emit a high pitched scream.

Harry's scream probably matched it.

An arm left the ceiling and reached out towards Harry, claws bursting through in a bloody mess on the fingertips, when all of a sudden everything was gone and the room was light.

"What is going on?" he heard Tom hiss, and all Harry could do was sob in relief; he may have been sobbing beforehand anyway. "Did you have a nightmare?"

Harry knew it must have looked that way at first glance; Harry was in bed, with every other sign vanishing as soon as the door had opened. He knew it wasn't a dream though, because his hand was clammy around his wand, the cats were still shaking under a chair, and there were blood stains on the ceiling. Wait, what?

Harry found himself staring up at the bloody handprints above him, and Tom's eyes travelled to the same spot.

Tom frowned, then composed himself and moved over to Harry to stare into his eyes. The Gryffindor willingly allowed Tom access to his mind, because Harry knew he would have no way to explain any of what just happened. The worst part of that however, was watching confusion make it's way onto Tom's face; Harry had never seen him look that way before, as Tom normally could control his facial expressions.

Harry gave up on allowing Tom to search his mind, and he reached out to grab Tom's shirt, pulling him forward to bury his head in the soft material. He could feel Tom's body reacting to the trembling from him, and his fingers shook as he clutched at Tom's shirt.

"You have no idea what it is either, do you?" Harry said softly, finally pulling back from Tom once his breathing had calmed.

"I can theorise," Tom answered. "I know it wasn't here to hurt you."

"It didn't seem that way-oh God, it was him, wasn't it?" Him, of course, being Marvolo Slytherin.

"Not Marvolo, exactly. I personally made sure he cannot enter the Manor or the grounds, but that can't stop him sending in things like this creation," Tom explained, and Harry frowned again.

"A creation?" he repeated, and Tom nodded.

"I haven't heard of anything like it before, and one trait that we three all share is the need to create."

"Will it come back?" Harry asked; Tom shook his head.

"I doubt it; it either left because of me or the light; we can sleep with the light on if you'd like," Tom offered.

Harry chose not to nod, instead he asked, "what if it comes at Hogwarts?"

"Have you never read Hogwarts: a History?" Tom said, with a look of surprise. "As well as having passwords, each common room is protected by two charms; one for students and one for whatever house you were sorted in. Marvolo and I would be able to enter Slytherin house, but no other. You would be able to enter any house at the moment, providing you have the password, but once you graduate you would only be able to enter Gryffindor. Any other entity is cast away; why do you think you've only ever seen your house ghost in the common room? Now, everywhere else in the school is a weak point, but stay with others and don't travel in the dark, then you'll be fine. I'll start some research very soon. "

"I wish you could just find out what his Horcrux is and destroy it," Harry muttered as Tom crawled onto the bed beside him. He stiffened for a split second at Harry's question, and Harry only noticed because he was so used to Tom by now. "What?"

"Nothing," Tom said faintly.

"It doesn't seem like nothing; do you know what it is?" Harry asked; Tom sighed.

"You should go to sleep; I can stay awake and keep a watch for you," Tom said, purposely ignoring Harry's comment. He pulled Harry into his chest and wrapped his arms around him, which made it very difficult for Harry to think about anything but Tom.

X

Although he did hate them, Harry did appreciate Tom's Sleeping Charms at the same time; they would knock him out almost instantly and leave his nights dream and nightmare free. He recognised them well enough now, and he had cast another at Harry last night, probably knowing he would have never slept otherwise, considering his head was filled with murdered girls, creepy monsters, and Tom.

"Was Draco okay last night?" Harry asked Tom as they ate lunch together. Tom had somewhere in the last fortnight become a foodie, not that Harry would ever dare say such a Muggle expression to his face, but the man seemed eager to explain new cuisines, although everything was prepared and cooked by House-Elves.

"Why wouldn't he be?" Tom replied, as his nimble fingers made quick work of the strange shelled concoction he was eating. Harry was happy to stick to the colourful macaroons; Remus had probably been the cause of his life-long sweet tooth.

"Well you said what was involved last night wasn't very nice, and Draco is a bit, err, fragile at the moment, I guess, maybe," Harry said awkwardly, shrugging.

"I hadn't noticed," Tom said simply, and then grabbed hold of the macaroon in Harry's hand. "Why is it every time you are presented with new food you're too afraid to try anything but the sweet?"

"I like my sugar," Harry stated, picking up an éclair. "Besides, there's nothing better than something simple like a cheese burger." Cheese burgers were not a Wizarding World food, so it was always a treat for him to go to the nearest Fast-Food joint when he went home for the summer.

"That sounds very Muggle, which means it sounds disgusting," Tom decided, and Harry rolled his eyes. He found himself blushing slightly as Tom watched him bite into the éclair; he nervously licked his lips as he placed the dessert down.

Tom smirked and leant forwards, pressing his lips to Harry's.

"It's no wonder you always taste so sweet," Tom mused as he pulled away, leaving Harry feeling light-headed. "And, of course, I would trade in all the foot in the world to taste you instead."

For a moment Harry decided Tom was rather strange, but then their lips were connected again, and as Tom pushed him to the floor, all other thoughts left his head.

X

Once again, the time seemed to pass by in a blur. The last fortnight had been an awkward and painful but predictable time.

News of Cho's death and the circumstances surrounding it had spread quickly, and, especially at first, many students had been on edge. One memorable moment had been when a third year Hufflepuff ran screaming from the Great Hall when the girl next to her had knocked her glass to the floor with a smash.

As time passed, and the Aurors released a statement saying they were at no risk, did the students begin to relax again. The Auror presence in the castle probably helped too. They weren't there all the time; just at weekends and in the early mornings and evenings when the professors were resting or busy.

Neville had approached Harry not long after the Hogsmede incident. He was on his own, so Harry questioned this.

"Where are Ron and Hermione?" he'd asked, and Neville had shrugged.

"Ron's with Lavender, and I'm kind of losing track of Hermione," had been the sheepish answer. Then Neville had questioned him.

"You've been working with Draco Malfoy a lot this year; has anything about him seemed suspicious to you?" Neville had asked, so Harry had been quick to defend the blond Slytherin.

"Just because his father was a Death Eater doesn't make him one," Harry had argued; lying through his teeth. "All we ever seem to do is study; he wouldn't have time to be a Death Eater, trust me."

Neville had believed him, even if he had been a bit sceptical at first.

There had been no further incidents with Marvolo or with peculiar figures, though he had received another letter from home, telling him and Heather to prepare for the fact they might spend Christmas away from home because a high number of Muggles had been murdered by Death Eaters there.

The one place Harry felt able to escape from all the talk of Death Eaters and murders and psychopaths was in his Animagus lessons.

He had taken to doing all his other homework during his free periods and in the early mornings so that he could really focus on his transformation in the evenings.

He was very comfortable in understanding his own magic now; when he focused he could feel every strand of magic travelling through his body, and feel how each of them connected. He could even feel how much power each strand held, although that was a bit harder and used a lot more energy. It wasn't necessary for the transformation, but it would make things easier. McGonagall had made sure to teach Harry everything he would possibly need to know.

He was attending what he hoped what be his last lesson; Minerva had told him he was right on track, and he just needed to learn to manipulate the magic inside him to change. The first transformation was the hardest, because nobody knew what animal they were until they changed for the first time. Once a person knew their Animagus form, they could very easily tell their magic what to change into and it was very basic.

"Concentrate on your magic," McGonagall said calmly, as Harry sat with his eyes shut. "Make sure you have every strand that you house. You need to will those strands to change into an animal; be willing to change."

That was easier said than done.

He could feel a strange bubbling sensation in his magic as he willed himself to change, but a burst of pain caused his focus to drop and his eyes to snap open.

He rubbed at his wrist where a pain was shooting up and down his arm from.

"You need to tune in to your magic even more," McGonagall stated. "Clear your mind of all but the magic."

Harry glanced at the mirror that Professor McGonagall had set up; he longed to be able to look into it later and see an animal staring back.

Harry shut his eyes, and shut his mind off. He visualised his magic strands in his mind, and pictured them bending to his will.

He opened his eyes again as he felt a strange sensation inside of him, almost like he was shaking from within. He explained the sensation to the Transfiguration professor.

"You were almost there; you just had to push a bit further," the woman said, making Harry feel guilty for giving up. "Perhaps we should continue tomorrow; you're looking tired and I wouldn't recommend attempting the transformation with lower energy. Remember you'll still need enough to change back."

"I can go once more," Harry said with fierce determination; Professor McGonagall looked proud.

He once again cleared his mind, visualising his magic core inside himself. He pictured each strand vividly, and drew all his energy into twisting them.

This time he ignored the shaking sensation, even when he felt like his blood was going to burst through his skin. He ignored the feeling of his limbs being stretched out impossibly long, and then shrivelling into nothing.

He did open his eyes when all the feelings stopped, and he suddenly felt smaller. His head, though still his own thoughts, felt clearer and void of complicated emotions. A quick glance down told him he was much nearer the floor than he used to be, and a glance up gave him a view of a beaming McGonagall. He had done it!

He ran over to the mirror; or rather he tried to. He now had four legs, and at his first attempt at moving he fell over. After he regained his feet movement seemed to come naturally however.

He excitedly bounded up to the mirror and gazed in. Returning his gaze was a green eyed black fox.

X

Date: 2015-12-18; view: 535