Uh, hello?
As soon as Harry slipped inside, he spotted the only chair and more plopped than slid into it.
Hands fidgeting with a few photographs and papers, Harry cast his gaze about the small sectioned off area. It was odd to see the familiar wall without the window. Or the dividing curtains transfigured into a matching wall. Done by Professor McGonagall and they weren't anything to sneeze at, Harry was sure.
His eyes took in the basic metal frame of the hospital bed, but Harry quickly glanced across, not willing to look at the occupant laying on it quite yet. Instead, Harry studied the empty bedside table. There was a nick on one of the legs. It was a hands length above the floor. There were a few scuff marks around where the table and bed legs sat on the floor. From being moved about and through time. Harry was familiar enough with the sights in the hospital wing.
Looking back to the walls, specifically the one he knew from positioning coming into this sectioned off area had to have had a window, Harry squinted. He knew the window should be right there. Expected to see it. Even with knowing and seeing it in his mind of where he knew it should be, Harry could not spot the outline or any noticeable sign. Professor McGonagall was good. Good and thorough.
And well, she should be.
Considering the occupant of the bed Harry had yet to look at.
Instead of actually turning his eyes there yet, he kept studying Professor McGonagall's work on the window, mentally mapping out the window's placement. As he did, Harry took the time to listen. It was silent in the room. Unexpectedly so. It unnerved him a little. He knew what the hospital wing was currently like. There were still people here healing from the battle. He knew who was waiting outside this area for him. He strained his ears, tried to hear at least a babble, wall muffled voices even if one couldn't make out the exact words. And…nothing.
The only sound he could make out was from his rustling, his breathing, a second person's breathing, and his thudding heart.
Right. Unnerving. Unduly so.
For a moment, Harry had a slight bout of panic. Worried about the people outside whom may not hear if there were any issues inside. Then easily recalled and soothed himself with Madam Pomfrey's bit of spellwork on the door. She'd be alerted if the occupant left the bed.
Harry snuck a peek across to the bed, seeing the vague shape of a person lying under the white sheets, then flickered his eyes to the pale arms laying down over those sheets. Specifically to the wrists. Even more specifically, what encased those bone white wrists. Chains. A single band of chain around both wrists. Harry was no expert on metal and chains or anything like that, but he did have an up close and personal look at a certain set of chains on a chair inside the Ministry of Magic. Chains to bind a person.
If they were the same kind of chains… Harry wondered if they could bind a person's magic. That'd make sense with the purpose and use of that chair. And make sense here in this situation. Yet he searched his memory. He had not, but had any of the people he'd seen in that chair attempted to use magic?
Harry sucked in a breath. Tom being stunned would not last forever. Who knew when exactly it would wear off? Not like he was not already in here though, Harry thought to himself, wanting the extra time to himself before.
Procrastinating longer, he moved his gaze downward. To his lap. He found himself drawn, again, to one of the photos found on the bookcase the Room of Requirement gave to them.
It was an old black and white photograph of the Slug Club. Tom's black hair tidy and neat in its side part, school uniform pressed clean, standing straight with his hands clasped behind his back, and a closed mouthed smile on his face. The boy may have been in a group picture, but it was clear there was some distance in how he held himself. Not even his shoulders brushed with those beside him.
Harry stared at the photograph, studying it. It was easy to not see this as future Voldemort. Easy to see this was Tom. A boy who was an orphan, never adopted, keeping wary and cautious distance between himself and others. But even so, from old memories seen, Harry got the feeling Tom was similar to him in feelings about Hogwarts. It had become a home, a place chosen over where he'd been placed as a child.
For as much as Tom kept careful physical distance and his smile a practiced one, the pride in himself and being in the group picture was evident in how he held himself, his chin aloft.
It wasn't anything like his picture attached to sheets obtained from Wool's Orphanage.
Haughty. Haughty discomfort. Scowling, clearly not wishing to partake, eyes cast away and to the side.
Like he was embarrassed by the photograph and being at the orphanage.
Unwanted.
And Tom knew it.
Harry shuffled the photographs back into the pile he held, placing them back into his lap, letting out a long breath. He finally raised his head up and looked to the occupant laying on the bed. For a moment, he blinked, taking in the sight on the bed.
Not laying.
Sitting upright.
Tom. Staring at him, studying him silently.
Gaping, Harry stared, gob smacked, right back.
When had Tom woken?
The photographs and papers spilled onto the floor as Harry abruptly stood up. He stepped closer, not really thinking about it, just moving. Tom's long pale fingers clenched at the white sheets, his eyes narrowing at Harry, shoulders adjusting back. But Harry paid that very little mind, startled by the sight of what peered back at him.
Not red.
Brown.
The eyes that had been silently studying him and were now narrowed upon Harry, were very much a set of dark brown.
Well.
That was...
That was one less thing to explain to Tom.
Who was still seated upright, shoulders back, brown—not red—eyes narrowed upon Harry. Appearing on the edge of reacting to anything. Probably not in the best way knowing Tom from the few memories gleamed. Tied in with waking up in an unknown place and an unknown person in the room. Unknown. Unknown person if it was all Tom and not Voldemort like they were assuming.
"Er," Harry said.
Awkward, not sure where to start, a noise. Tom's arms tensed, Harry could see the tendons and veins under his pale skin. Tom's hands shifted in preparation to…push off the bed maybe? Or to make a move against Harry. Yeah. That one probably seemed more likely. Well.
Harry cleared his throat, put on a tentative smile, and hoped.
"Uh, hello?"