let me go, hold me close

Faint voices drift through, contorted and muffled. Curiosity once more, before it is squashed beneath. He cared not.

It had been exactly five hours. Five hours since he had decided against shocking the boy with the murder of a random muggle, plans eclipsed by that dinner. Five hours since he had held Harry to apparate him home, since he had his arms wrapped around the boy, in that once familiar sensation. Too fleeting, and there was no reason for any repetition.

Each day, each hour, each minute spent in this new world drove him further into that crazed insanity.

And then, the cherry on top had been that conversation with James. He still doesn't know how to feel about it.

Oh how he had longed once, for someone to call kin, to claim as his own. For a rescue, for a father, for his flesh and blood...which had turned out to be only filth and vermin. And now—

It wasn't for him, it was for Tom, and yet—

Was he not Tom too?

No!

The murmurs die down slowly even as his eyes remain trained upwards, vision blurred and glazed as memories and emotions and wants take a hold, no mercy.

That quiet however, is broken right after, with a knock on his closed door. "What is it, Potter?"

"I was sure you were still up, may I come in?"

"Would it truly stop you, were I disinclined to such a request?", his tone dismissive, even as the door opens with a slight movement of his fingers. 

It was so much more, to see him in the flesh. So much better than pining over memories that weren't even his, so vivid and intense, burned into the backdrop of his brain, this boy—

"It would be to your detriment, if you were so disinclined", he can read the exasperation between those lines, the mockery in his words being repeated back at him, as Harry walks in without hesitation, even if he never looks directly at Lord Voldemort.

"So, I just got out of a floo call with my Godfather", a glance, as that mutt is brought up. "And this concerns Lord Voldemort...how, exactly?", especially the dog, he cares not one whit.

"Well, Sirius has made contact with a very reclusive friend of the Black family for us, a soul seer in the South American jungles. He believes this shaman could have some very useful knowledge about the bond, although, there is one small problem—", the boy stops there, taking in a deep breath before continuing. "If you want the shaman to see your soul, you must let the forest see your soul first, so we will need to stay as their guests for a moon cycle, or so Sirius was told. Which means, we will have to—"

"Carabayo", as memories of his first time seeking arcane and forgotten knowledge rush through. Back when he was young and reckless and his curiosity had known no bounds, when he had been forced to work at Borgin and Burkes and had needed some relief. "We will have to stay with the Carabayo."

"Yes, that is the only name Sirius could get out of them, what do you know?" "I know that this shaman is not going to be of much help, Potter, not if she remains as I remember her."

"And what exactly does that mean?" "What do you think it means? We met, it ended well for only one of us, can you guess who, Harry?"

(A surprise, he did not intend to call the boy by name at all.)

"Well, considering you were spreading your bigotry and terror until decades later, I'd say you." He has to smile at that.

"Be careful you do not sing my praises too long, Potter, or I might get the wrong idea." Did he ever have the right idea, in retrospect? Nope! 

"You're not funny", the tone makes him want to smile again. "Nevermind. So, what about this shaman? Do you think you can contain your murderous urges long enough for us to get some useful information out of her?"

"I'm sure I will manage, Potter", even as he cannot shake off memories of a time past. The Carabayo were extremely dangerous, no one knew that better than him. "And how exactly did your Godfather come to procure such an invitation?"

"It was Regulus, although he still doesn't know anything, I'm sure."

"And how did Regulus end up with such an invitation?"

A shrug, "You'll have to ask him, I'm afraid, I didn't ask."

"You are truly a fount of uselessness, aren't you, Potter."

"I see we're back to this. Can't we have one conversation that doesn't end with you insulting me", a sigh.

It was truly loathsome, how the boy managed to toy with his emotions in this way. 

"My apologies, Potter", it is easier than expected, "Now, the Carabayo. Are you aware of how truly dangerous this tribe is? Not only them, but also the forest they live in?"

Well, even if not, he was fully aware. 

"Sirius started to say something about it, but I didn't know if you even wanted to go." He does not know how to feel about this statement, that the boy had been thinking about him—

"Worry not, Potter. Lord Voldemort will keep you safe." It is only when all the words are already out, hanging in the air between them, does he realise what he has uttered out loud. A panicked internal scream, teeth clenching together as the boy's eyes almost pop out of his skull at the words. 

"Wha...What did you just say?"

"Well, you heard me, Potter. We are bonded, and should something happen to you, the consequences of such to myself could be disastrous. And so, I shall endeavor to keep myself, and thus you, as safe as possible." The words are out in a rush, but at least it was a reasonable explanation.

Was it though, as the boy smiles at him again. This time a wide, full smile with teeth, eyes shining in delight. "Ofcourse, that makes sense."

He feels a bit ridiculed, even if he cannot sense any intent at making him feel so on the boy's face. "Lord Voldemort always makes sense. Now, was there anything else?" Before he said something else he didn't mean to.

"No, but we do need to leave tomorrow, or wait another month. They will only let us in on a moonless night."

"Ah yes, that ridiculousness, and the more to follow, I remember it well. No matter, tomorrow it is. Now, goodnight, Potter."

"And you're just okay with living with these people for a whole month? After you just talked about how dangerous they are?"

"Well well, Potter, are you a frightened little puppy already?" A glare, those green eyes were even brighter in this fire. "There's no need to worry, I killed every last one of them without a spell, that time." That face changes into one he cannot read, even as he knows what his own must now look like, vicious, gleeful, triumphant. 

"What? Why?" 

"Why? Well, a myriad of reasons, I couldn't really pick one over the other. The one that stands out most, perhaps, was that the shaman was condescending. I hope this time, for her sake, she isn't."

"I....okay?" He would not understand, he was an insufferable Gryffindor.

"Goodnight, Potter. Do not bother me again until the morning."

"Um, goodnight then." No, wait—

The door closes with a certainty, bringing with it a want for that boy to be back, to have him spend the night against Tom, to feel that hair against his fingers. 

He was too hasty in telling the boy to leave—

No, he had to make him leave that very instant. 

Tonight was also most likely his last time enjoying sleep without a care. A whole month of being on his guard, not just for himself, but also for Harry, was sure to be torture. Why the Carabayo of all people, but then again, he'd gone to see her too. 

Occlumency is not very helpful in stopping imaginings of what could happen, especially when it involved that boy. Harry, with his skull cracked open, as they—

No!

Regulus was sure to have prepared against any such outcomes from this invitation. He would certainly prepare against any such possibilities, Lord Voldemort would make sure to protect what was his!

Well, it takes a second to swallow the disappointment of the loss of his last good night's sleep, but needs must. 

He sets off for his lab with purpose, ideas running through until he is sure of exactly what he wanted. A bracelet, four stones should be more than sufficient, especially with his runework and casting. Perhaps a bit exorbitant, but he does end up choosing four emeralds so very reminiscent of those eyes. He cannot help himself. 

He purifies and casts the silver into a fine chain, setting the stones into their places, spread equidistant across, the quick and easy part. Carving the protective runes into the metal around them however, was sure to take its time, as he sits down in front of his magical magnifying glass. 

One to make sure no one could touch him, physically or magically, one to protect against Leglimency, one to make sure his food and drink were safe, and lastly, one to monitor his overall well-being and distress level. The last was one he would keep to himself, unsure how it would be received.

Once the final rune is inscribed, another decision, he picks up his wand once more, casting a chram to automatically resize it to the boy's hand once worn and another to prevent anyone removing it but Harry.

Satisfied with his work, he casts another tempus, and packs his lab back up into its usual pristine condition. The bracelet pooled in his palm, he walks back up to his room, dropping it on the table beside as he gets into bed once more.

Now thoughts of how the boy would take this gift plague every breath, leaving him a sleepless mess staring at the ceiling again. It was deeply frustrating, that he kept ending his days back here in a daze, unable to focus or have even a semblance of control. 

He should sleep, so he was perfectly alert in the guaranteed-to-be hostile environment of tomorrow, and yet—

When a tempus shows it is close to eight, he decides on breakfast, equally eager and hesitant about seeing Harry again. The bracelet once more burning a hole in his palm, he walks to breakfast. 

The boy has beaten him to it, unfortunately. Not even a minute alone to rehearse. With a deep breath to strengthen his resolve, he strides up to Harry with purpose, letting the silver chain pool out of his hands and onto the table beside him.

"Morning. Found this for you to wear on our trip. Should help." That green, which until then had been pointed towards the fine print of the day's newspaper, now turns upwards to catch his own. "What?"

"Are you often struck by a lack of words, Potter? Or is it perhaps this year in particular?" Triumph at his apparant success, he starts putting together a plate. 

"No, it's more like, you're a crazy unpredictable person. What's this?" 

He knows not what to say.

"It should help."

"And you expect me to put it on with only that for an explanation?" Harry hasn't moved to touch it yet, such caution would serve him well. 

"Yes", even though he's fully expecting to still spell everything out, taking his time to make his plate in an attempt to stall. 

The boy studies his leisurely countenance with narrowed eyes, letting go of his cup of tea to pick up one of the emeralds. "You carved these runes yourself", as he held it up in front of his face. It was indeed quite the perfect match to that hypnotic gaze.

"I did, indeed. Your observational skills are, as always—" "You said you found it."

And for that, he has nothing. 

"Yes, well", he turns his eyes back to his plate, unwilling for another word to leave him, unsure of what would, if he let it. 

"You made this for me?", he sounds almost charmed. "I did explain my own reasons for keeping you safe yesterday, Potter."

"That you did", the boy agrees with another smile, but he does not put it on, or even fiddle with the clasp. Why?

Breakfast tastes like absolutely nothing as that question grates at him the longer the boy plays around with it, twisting it in the light. 

When he scrapes his very last bite onto his fork, his query rears its head without permission. "Do you hate it?"

"What? No, Tom...I mean...No, I...I don't hate it, I just...Nevermind. Here, I'll put it on." 

He has no idea how to dissect such a statement, as the boy busies himself doing as such. 

Mercifully, he has no need to, and the fire bursts into a bright floo-green, that mutt calling for Harry through the flames. "Pup, you awake yet?"

"You can come through, it's open. We're just having breakfast. "

It grows bigger as it spits out not only him but also Regulus. Not his Regulus, but it still smarts just a bit to see that face again. How had he been betrayed by the two of them, his Regulus and his Severus, once his closest and most loyal, second only to Bella's worship. And now—

Lost in old memories, he idly greets the both of them and they continue to talk to Harry about preparations for the upcoming trip. He needs no preparation, he had already conquered this once. A longer go around would certainly be more torturous, but nothing new.

So lost in thought of what was to come, he does not realise when it goes back to being the two of them. "So, you ready to leave tonight? You'd think Reggie gave us enough potions to last a year, instead of just a month", as he continues to dig through the brand new trunk the fire-call had brought with it. 

"I should be ready in time, Potter", he takes this distraction as his cue to leave. Spending too much time in the boy's presence gnawed at his brain in a certain way. 

It takes only an hour for him to consider himself ready, and so begins the waiting game. It is too much, to focus on any research or a book, and yet the mindless wait is perfect breeding ground for thoughts of him again. 

He decides against continuing as such, going instead to search for that boy in person, the cause of his every dilemma. It takes a while before he finds Harry in the greenhouse, quietly casting stasis charms on the more agreeable plants, directing the more particular ones into an expanding pouch held in one hand. 

It is a few minutes before he is caught, leaning against the entrance, the boy's eyes widening as they spot his form. "Hello?"

"Hello, Harry. Packing up your plants?"

"Thought I'd send the ones that need a certain level of care over to Lily, while I'm not here."

"How very thoughtful of you, I'm sure the Mimbulus mimbletonia will take a second to consider, before it covers you in its stink again." It doesn't, as he watches the dark green liquid cover the entire front of the boy's shirt, the sharp smell of manure coating the inside of his nose. The boy only rolls his eyes at that, a sight. 

"I'll finish up the rest if you'd like to go clean up", not an offer he was intending on extending, but now that he already had—

The boy does not take it, instead casting a cleaning charm on himself, and not a very thorough one either. "It's fine, I'm almost done", and he is, bar one shelf. He makes quick work of it though, as Tom watches, mesmerized as he often was by Harry's Magic. 

Harry turns back to face him at the door after, "Did you need something?"

"I do not require anything, no. Just needed to make sure you understand that we will be unable to leave there for a whole month, for any reason."

"I...understand?"

"Do you?"

"This game is not fun, what is your point?"

"Is there anything you enjoy doing in the outside world that you'd miss, Potter? If so, you should prepare to enjoy yourself one last time before we leave, lest you miss it while we are unable, and you bother me with these feelings."

It gets him a laugh in response. "Don't worry, there is nothing I would miss so much I would bother you with it."

That...stings, as much he tries not to label it as such. 

"I see." He decides to leave at that, before it got any worse, not that he cared at all. "Well then, I will see you a few minutes before we portkey out."

He ends up back at Riddle Manor for some reason; well, at the graveyard. This one was free of any terribly carved commemorative marble statues, not yet tainted by those distasteful reminders. 

How lucky, this Tom was, for having met Harry Potter during—

No! 

He spends the next few hours suppressing that thought, mindlessly walking the property that was his by right, one that he had both dreamed of and despised. 

A tempus shows he has about an hour still, until he needed to see the boy again, so he decides to indulge in just the tiniest bit of nostalgia, one that would remain solely his secret. A quick second of required concentration to Apparate himself, and he is standing in his usual spot near King's Cross, quiet and deserted as it usually was. 

Casting a glance around to reassure himself of his privacy, certainly overkill and yet one couldn't be too sure of any certainty, he walks over to another familiar spot.

In another life, Tom Riddle did not have many memories he would term great, but there sure was one. An iced lolly in the summer. Certainly not on par with Fortescue's, but for some reason, the memory, it had a certain pull. Even now, with access to other options. 

He casts a quick confundus on the muggle at the till, swiping away the stick with a pinch of his fingers and thumb, walking away before any words are said between them, precisely the amount of muggle interaction he preferred.

It is its usual (and long forgotten) cloying sweet and icy, the stick imparting it's own necessary bitter notes to cloud over even the barest hint of deliciousness. Supposedly orange flavored, atleast, if the color was to be believed. 

Disgusting, as he stands where he once stood and experienced a completely different memory. The satisfaction it had given him once does not remain, and perhaps, stealing the three pence to buy it had been half the attraction too. 

A beat, before he lets go of it suddenly, the half-melting orange mess landing just inches from his shoe. He studies it for a second too long before the internal screaming brings him back to the present.

It was so jarring, his behavior, the detour into muggle London for a muggle sweet, this whole thing with Harry that had, by now, turned him completely upside down. 

He almost apparates away in the middle of a busy muggle street, catching himself in just a second. The Ministry of Magic! It would be foolish to inform them of his existence in any way. However, it is quite difficult, to control his rage at this constant lack of control. Even that is an irony. 

Making it back to Stone House is difficult, but he manages it without splinching, when he finally does attempt it. Harry glances up in an instant, quite unfortunate, as he is unsure of his face at the moment. 

"What's wrong now?" "Nothing is wrong, Potter. Are we ready to go?"

"Well, it's still ten minutes for the portkey" "Ofcourse"

He takes a seat next to the boy, grasping at anything at all to move the focus away from whether something was wrong. (Something was wrong)

"What are you reading?"

"A journal of some guy from the eighteen hundreds that tried to find this tribe. It's pretty boring so far, he's been lost in the jungle for quite some time now."

"You are looking at someone who not only found the tribe, but also proved himself superior. Ask me what you wish to know, I shall skip the 'boring' parts, as you term them."

"Well, I don't really have questions as much as I just wanted to know what they are like."

"Well, they are very dangerous, like I said. They channel the magic of the forest, which itself is resistant to all foreign magic, including ours." He gives the boy a pointed look. "In some areas, we may be unable to cast any spells at all."

"But—" "Let me finish." A surly look, but atleast the boy listens and does not interrupt further. "In some areas, we cannot cast Magic with our wands, but we will always have access to our innate Magic, and thus wandless Magic. And, while it is only to be used in most dire of situations, I also have some knowledge of the Magic of the forest they channel. Compared to the seer, however, I am a mere child. Still, I do think it would be best if you let me take the lead, I will keep us safe, as I said."

"Is this why you looked so out of sorts, because you're afraid I will do or say something that puts us in danger while we can't really use our wands?"

No, and yet he cannot tell the boy the truth either. What would he say anyway? 'I'm chasing memories I once hated' and 'finding out even they are hollow is breaking me apart in some way?'

"Yes, so you understand, then?"

"If I feel like you're escalating a situation I keep the right to veto."

"Fair enough, Potter. Now, I believe it's about time?" A tempus confirms it is thirty seconds to. 

They stand up beside the other, grasping either ends of the dual-knotted thick rope that was their portkey, his eyes taking in his new home for the last time for a while.

He would miss it.