Chapter 11
Ever since Harry had learned that he was Voldemort’s Horcrux—or rather, Tom’s, as he now preferred to call him—their relationship had shifted into something… different. It was no longer just an odd companionship between a wizard and a stray cat. Now, it was Harry and Tom, human to human..as human as Harry could be, soul to soul. And though it unsettled him at times, he couldn’t deny that it felt right. Natural, even.
Yes, he still had moments of doubt, moments where the weight of their history pressed down on him like an iron chain. But the longer he spent with Tom, the more they unraveled the intricacies of his situation—the Horcrux, the compulsions, the stolen choices—the fonder they grew of each other.
Tom had taken to teaching him, guiding him through ancient magic with the patience of a scholar, explaining runes and their significance in ways Hogwarts never had. He had dissected Harry’s failed ritual, pointing out each flaw with an amused sort of exasperation, before delving deeper into the mechanics of Horcruxes. The strangest part? Harry was handling it all remarkably well. Perhaps too well.
Maybe it was because, after everything, this was the first time someone was actually explaining things to him without lies, without half-truths wrapped in riddles. Tom spoke plainly, and while he was still infuriatingly smug about his intelligence, Harry found it refreshing. At least he knew where he stood.
And ever since Tom had declared, in his usual matter-of-fact way, that Harry was his soul, that they would figure this out together, things had settled into an almost… peaceful rhythm. The next three days passed smoothly, filled with research, quiet conversations, and an unspoken understanding between them.
Now, it was two days before Yuletide, and the topic of the ritual to return Harry to his proper body had come up once again.
Tom insisted that the ritual should be performed during Yule.
“Magic is stronger during the solstice,” he explained, his voice low and steady as he traced runes in the air with a flick of his wand. “Yule marks the rebirth of the sun, the transition from darkness into light. Many ancient rituals were performed on this night because the veil between worlds is thinner, allowing magic to flow more freely.” He glanced at Harry then, eyes sharp with meaning. “For a soul-bound ritual like yours, this is the ideal time.”
Harry nodded slowly, absorbing the information. It made sense. Yule was a time of renewal, a time of change. And what was he if not something in desperate need of transformation?
Still, the idea of going through another ritual—even one done right—sent a shiver down his spine. His last attempt had gone disastrously wrong, after all. His fault really.
As if sensing his hesitation, Tom’s gaze softened just slightly. “This time, you won’t be doing it alone.”
Something in Harry eased at those words. He exhaled, his tail flicking as he padded closer to where Tom sat, runes glowing faintly before him. Alright, he thought, I trust you.
Tom chuckled, reaching out to scratch behind Harry’s ears. "We’ll need to prepare carefully," he murmured. "The ritual requires balance, and Yule is the perfect time for that. The energy in the air will make it easier to restore your body properly."
He reached for a bowl of finely ground herbs, sifting through them with precise fingers. "This mixture will act as a stabilizer, ensuring that your magic aligns with your physical form. We don’t want another accident, do we?" He shot Harry a teasing smirk, earning a flick of the tail in response.
Bastard.. Harry hissed.
Shaking his head fondly, Tom continued preparing the ritual space, drawing intricate lines on the stone floor. "You know, Animagus transformations and rituals like these share some similarities. Both require intent, an understanding of the self. If you hadn’t been reckless to the change so recklessly before, you might have realized how much control you already had over your magic."
Harry huffed, stretching out on the floor as he watched Tom work, his green eyes sharp with curiosity.
Tom glanced at him, smiling slightly. "You’ll see. This time, it will work as it should."
Sensing his unease, Tom gently tapped the tip of Harry’s nose. "Don’t fret, little one. We aren’t going to harm you. There are alternatives, subtler ways to separate it. It will take both precision and patience."
Harry sighed, rubbing his head against Tom’s wrist before settling beside him, watching as the older wizard continued sketching runes onto the parchment before him. As much as it unnerved him, he trusted Tom to figure this out. He had to.
Yule it is, he echoed in his mind, this time with a quiet purr.
YULE 12AM
The night was still and crisp, the air thick with the hum of latent magic as midnight approached on Yule. The ritual circle was complete, glowing faintly under the flickering candlelight. Tom stood at its center, glancing down at Harry, who sat curled at the edge, his tail flicking in anticipation.
"It’s time," Tom murmured, voice softer than usual. He knelt, gently brushing a finger over Harry’s head before setting the final rune into place. "This will work, little one. Just trust me."
Harry let out a small chirp, his emerald eyes locking onto Tom’s, filled with trust and something else—something warmer. With a slow breath, Tom raised his wand, the ancient incantation rolling off his tongue as the magic around them began to stir. The candle flames flickered wildly, casting elongated shadows across the walls, while the runes on the floor pulsed in sync with the rhythm of Tom’s voice.
Harry felt the shift in the air immediately—an electric hum, a pulling sensation that resonated deep within his core. He curled his tail tighter around his paws, his ears twitching as the energy coiled around him.
Tom continued his chanting, his voice unwavering as he guided the magic to weave around Harry. "Your body and magic must be in harmony," he spoke between incantations, his gaze locked on the feline form before him. "Your form split because of imbalance, but we will restore it as it was meant to be."
Harry blinked, his emerald eyes reflecting the glow of the ritual circle. He trusted Tom, despite everything, despite the years of being told otherwise. He had no choice but to trust.
The magic reached its peak, the room vibrating with the raw power of the Yule solstice. Tom took a steadying breath, eyes softening for just a moment before he uttered the final words of the spell.
A brilliant light engulfed Harry, warmth flooding through his tiny frame. His muscles tensed, a strange pulling sensation overtaking him—stretching, reshaping, restoring.
And then—silence.
The glow receded, leaving behind a figure hunched in the center of the circle.
Tom lowered his wand, his breath steady as he stepped forward, eyes scanning the ritual space. "Harry?" his voice, though calm, carried a thread of concern.
A groggy groan answered him. Harry, now very much human again, blinked up at him through a messy curtain of black hair. "Did it—?" His voice was hoarse, but unmistakably his.
Tom exhaled, a small, relieved chuckle escaping him. "Welcome back, little one."
Harry groaned, rolling onto his back, staring up at the ceiling. Everything felt strange—his limbs too long, his fingers stiff from disuse. But he was himself again. "That was... intense."
Tom smirked, offering a hand to help him sit up. "Magic of this caliber often is."
Harry took the offered hand, steadying himself as he sat cross-legged within the ritual circle. His head spun slightly, but he managed to focus on Tom, who was watching him with an unreadable expression.
"Now that you’re back in your proper form," Tom said, standing up with an air of finality, "you need a proper place to rest. Come. Ive asked some of Lucius' elves to set up a room for you."
Harry blinked in surprise as Tom extended a hand to help him up. His limbs still felt foreign, tingling with residual magic, but he grasped Tom’s hand and let himself be pulled to his feet. He expected to be thrust into yet another intense discussion, but instead, Tom led him through the halls of Malfoy Manor in thoughtful silence.
Eventually, they stopped before a grand yet understated door. With a flick of his wand, Tom pushed it open, revealing a spacious bedroom. The walls were adorned with intricate silver and emerald tapestries, the high ceiling boasting a stunning enchanted depiction of a night sky, twinkling softly. A large four-poster bed sat against the far wall, draped in plush, dark green blankets with accents of deep gold. To the side, a fireplace crackled warmly, casting flickering shadows across the mahogany floor. Bookshelves lined one wall, already half-stocked with various texts—some ancient, some modern. A large window overlooked the snowy grounds, the enchanted glass preventing the winter chill from creeping in.
Tom stepped inside, gesturing around. "This will be your room for as long as you need. I trust it’s suitable?"
Harry stared for a moment, taken aback by the effort. "You—You set this up for me?"
Tom smirked, but there was an undeniable softness in his expression. "Of course. You’ll need a place of your own now that you’re human again. Sleeping curled up in my study as a cat was one thing, but I imagine you’d rather not do so in this form."
Harry huffed, running a hand through his hair as he stepped further inside, taking in the details. "It’s... nice. Really nice."
Tom hummed approvingly. "Good. You can adjust it as you see fit. But first, sit. You need to rest."
Harry hesitated only a moment before settling onto the bed. The warmth of the room, the comfortable weight of the blanket Tom had conjured earlier—it all made him feel strangely... safe.
Tom took a seat in a nearby chair, steepling his fingers. "Now that you’re settled, we should talk. Or would you like some rest?”
Harry met his gaze, shaking his head at the question, already knowing what was coming. "Dumbledore."
Tom nodded. "Dumbledore."
Harry exhaled, tightening his grip around the cup. "Well..," he murmured. "We talked about it while I was still stuck as a cat. But knowing and being able to do something about it are two different things."
Tom hummed in agreement, tracing idle patterns in the chair. "It’s time we stop playing by his rules."
Harry tensed at the name. He had suspected as much, had started seeing the cracks in the façade over the past few days. "What do you mean?"
Tom’s gaze darkened. "The night I returned—truly returned—after the Triwizard Tournament, I wasn’t whole. Not entirely. I had my body, but something was missing. I went to Malfoy Manor immediately after the graveyard. That was when I began to remember."
Harry held his breath, listening intently.
"Dumbledore erased my memories long ago, weakening me. But the moment I returned to a proper vessel, the Horcruxes I absorbed—one that was destroyed, my diary, and one that is special to me, a ring—my memories came flooding back."
Harry clenched his fists, the weight of those words settling heavily in his chest. He had known—had went through it—but hearing Tom say it, made it feel all the more real. "He took away our choices," he murmured. "Erased memories, planted compulsions, controlled everything."
Tom's eyes gleamed in the dim firelight. "And now, we take that control back."
Harry sighed, lowering his head slightly as he rubbed between his eyebrows tiredly. Why did their lives have to be dictated by forces beyond their control? Why couldn't they live happily, without the weight of manipulation? Why was Lady Fate so cruel? Death had taken so many people, but he wasn’t the enemy. No. The true enemy, the one who had orchestrated so much suffering from the shadows, was Albus Dumbledore.
His fingers curled into the blanket as he exhaled deeply, letting the thought settle. He had spent years believing he was free, only to learn he had been a pawn all along. The realization left a bitter taste in his mouth.
“Would you like to sleep now, Harry?” Tom’s voice was softer than before, a rare tenderness laced within his words. Hesitantly, he stretched his hand out, resting it lightly on Harry’s knee.
Harry looked up, his bright emerald eyes locking onto Tom’s crimson gaze—only, for a fleeting moment, the red seemed to darken, shifting into something deeper, something almost... human. The flicker was brief, but it sent a strange warmth curling through Harry’s chest. He swallowed the thought, pushing it aside for later, and instead gave a small, tired smile.
“Yeah… I—I’d rather rest. Can we speak about this later? I think Draco mentioned Lady Malfoy had a ball planned for today.”
Tom blinked before humming in acknowledgment. "Ah, yes, it had slipped my mind… after days of research. Hm, well then, you better rest for later. I’ll inform Narcissa of your state. Young Malfoy must be excited to see you again and talk to you…" He trailed off, something bitter curling at the edges of his tone. A strange tightness formed in his chest, an unfamiliar sensation that he wasn’t entirely sure how to name.
Harry smiled appreciatively and stood from where he sat. Looking around sheepishly, he rubbed the back of his head before glancing at Tom with a small grin.
“Uh, where’s the bathroom… and are there any extra clothes—?”
Tom hummed, nodding as he stood. He walked over to a door near the bookshelves, opening it with a smooth flick of his wrist. "Here. You’ll find everything you need inside."
Harry stepped forward, peering inside to find a lavish bathroom, far grander than anything he had ever known. The walls were lined with dark marble, polished and veined with silver, the enchanted sconces casting a warm glow over the space. A spacious clawfoot tub sat against the far wall, its fixtures gleaming in bronze, while a separate glass-enclosed shower stood beside it. Plush emerald towels were neatly folded on a rack, and a selection of soaps and oils rested on a polished shelf, their scents subtly perfuming the air.
His breath caught slightly—this was more than just a bathroom. It was a sanctuary.
“You’ll find nightclothes in the wardrobe,” Tom added, watching Harry’s reaction with quiet amusement. “I took the liberty of selecting something comfortable for you.”
Harry turned, raising a brow in suspicion before making his way to the wardrobe beside the bathroom door. Opening it, he found a set of deep green silk pajamas embroidered subtly with serpentine patterns along the cuffs. They were softer than anything he’d ever worn, clearly expensive, and tailored with meticulous care. His lips twitched as he ran a hand over the fabric.
“You planned this,” he accused playfully, glancing back at Tom.
Tom only smirked, stepping back toward the doorway. “Sleep well, my soul.” His voice was smooth, but there was something else beneath it, something unreadable in his expression before he turned and left the room.
As the door shut behind him, Harry let out a slow breath, the lingering warmth of Tom’s presence curling around him in ways he didn’t quite understand. He shook his head, grabbing the pajamas and making his way into the bathroom.
Perhaps a hot bath would clear his thoughts.