Awake
Tom was most assuredly not happy, even if he did a very good job of keeping it off his face. If he saw Tom’s irritation Potter would just be more distressed, so he struggled to tamp down the emotion and keep his expression gentle. Keep his voice soothing. He ran fingers through the messy black hair, pushed magic into the little body in an attempt to heal the damage caused.
He couldn’t stop fighting for his cause, not after everything that had already been sacrificed on both sides. It would be an insult to all those who fought if he just gave up. But Merlin did Tom want to sometimes, when he saw the hurt on the young faces Dumbledore kept sending after him. That thrice damned old man just couldn’t let Tom better the community at the risk of his own power. So he sent children. Children! Again and again Tom faced down young teenagers and newly weds. Who were all children in the face of his experience, his power. Some admittedly very talented children, but innocent and undeserving of this struggle all the same.
Tom was angry. Beyond angry. He was tired of fighting and killing the wizarding youth. He didn’t want to, but he would if that was the cost to save magic. But all the same Tom raged. Raged against the man that compelled them all to stand against Tom, who filled the world with so many lies about Tom’s cause.
Oh, Tom hated the man. For everything, but mostly for continually sending children to fight his battle for him, for sacrificing the lives and future of the wizarding world. Tome hated him. Regularly imagined killing him.
Dumbledore had driven him mad, done something at the Potter residence that night to change him, turn him into little more than a mindless, power-hungry wraith. But Tom remembered now, had most of his sanity back. And he was ready to end this once and for all, even if it meant taking more risks than he wanted. He could and would prevent more unnecessary death.
The boy in his arms whimpered again as the Ministry building shook. The Order of the Phoenix would arrive any moment with their precious Lord of the Light. Maybe Tom would get lucky and Dumbledore would make enough of a mistake to die tonight. Somehow he doubted it.
The Dark Lord was well aware of his own power, but he also knew the knowledge and power and experience of Albus Dumbledore was a force to be reckoned with, and the Elder Wand would only make him more formidable. Tom could stand against him, but it was unlikely he would win tonight.
He would just have to buy enough time for all his Death Eaters to escape. He’d hoped to speak with the little lion, but it would seem there time to speak was over before it even began. He’d have to find another way, as he was not in the business of kidnapping children if he could help it.
With a brief kiss he left Potter on the floor behind him, protected by a ward designed by Orion Black himself many years ago.
He engaged Dumbledore, and the whole world shook around them. Some stopped their own fighting to watch, others took advantage of the distraction. Tom just wanted this night to be over. He wanted Dumbledore to suffer, but he would settle for making the old man run around a battlefield.
___
It was over before it really begun, but that seemed to be the theme of the night. Nothing had gone according to his plans this day. Not a single thing, but at least he’d managed to get the full prophecy thanks to Lucius.
Something good came out of the disastrous attempt to open the eyes of one Harry Potter.
Bellatrix would be paying for her insubordination for a very long time in the form of regular meetings with a mind healer and the very boring job of staying in protected places and recovering her old physical strength. She’d begged to be part of the mission, and he’d allowed it on the condition that she did not move from her post. He isn’t even sure why he believed she would. Perhaps he just hoped for his old Lieutenant back. The one before Dumbledore’s compulsions and more than a decade in Azkaban.
It would seem that there is a long while still to wait, and heal, before Bellatrix would be fit to take over that title once again. Perhaps he should send for another Mind Healer, one whose thoughts were not clouded by familial love. Narcissa was the best, but she was also blind in her love. HE should have known.
Despite all that, Tom was impressed. Those students had done quite well against his Death Eaters, even if his people were under strict orders not to permanently harm any of them. Not even seventh years, and the only one severely injured was Potter, who’d received the injuries from Bellatrix and himself.
But that tickled, because he knew the teachers taking up the Defence post at Hogwarts were constantly changing, and that the current one, a Miss Dolores Umbridge, was absolutely dreadful. Begged the question, even, of who had taught them to be so resourceful?
___
Harry awoke incredibly sore, like he’d fallen off his broom from fifty feet in the air. Again. Or something. It was a slow transition into wakefulness. Incredibly slow. Words coming out of Pomfrey’s mouth weren’t making much sense for a while. At least he knew she was talking to Hermione.
His legs seemed to be the main source of pain. Specifically his feet. He didn’t remember hurting his feet though. Definitely bruised some ribs, if they weren’t actually broken, when Bellatrix sent him flying through the air. In fact, with all the running and tossing himself around to escape there wasn’t much of his body that wasn’t bruised or injured. But his feet were something he actually expected to be alright after all that happened in the Ministry.
His head was surprisingly clear, now that he was released from sleep’s grasp. No headache or anything. Hands were fine. Arms good. Ribs sore but not unbearably so. Back a bit sore as well, it seemed. Hips undamaged. Legs felt like he’d run for his life. So, as was expected really. Feet status: on fucking fire.
Harry finally opened his eyes to glare at the two women talking about him as though he wasn’t in the room. Unconscious or not he didn’t like it.
“Madam Pomfrey? Er, what’s wrong with my feet?”
“Oh! You’re finally up, Mister Potter. Seems the heat from the stairwell melted right through your shoes, and the Blistering Potion that spilled all over the floor and got all over your boots made contact with your skin when you lost the shoe barrier. Not to worry, I’ve already drained the worst of the blisters. Professor Snape will bring up a special potion in a bit and you’ll be good as new.”
“The heat from the stairwell burned my shoes? It didn’t really seem all that bad.”
“Probably the adrenaline.”
Hermione added, “It’s actually a really interesting piece of magic. It’s meant to prevent people without a special artifact from using the stairwell. It has access to some classified areas of the Ministry. Professor Dumbledore thought it was quite lucky you all didn’t burn alive running through it.”
Harry thought she sounded far too excited about that whole bit of information.
“Wait. The Headmaster dueled Voldemort, didn’t he?” He ignored the flinches. “What happened after we left?”
“Professor Dumbledore fought off You-Know-Who while the Order helped get rid of the Death Eaters. They all fled soon after you were off the grounds. Seems the whole things was a set-up to get to you.”
That didn’t really add up. “But-”
“Ah, Harry, my boy! Finally awake I see.”
“Hello, Professor.” Harry was waiting for the twinkling eyes to say something about the stunt, but they weren’t twinkling at the moment. Something was off.
“Ladies, if you wouldn’t mind I’d like a few moments to speak with Mr. Potter myself.”
“Of course, Professor.”
“I’ll just escort this one back to the tower, shall I?”
Dumbledore waited until both witches were gone before turning back to Harry. He spent a few long moments just staring at him, and Harry was fighting hard not to fidget. He wasn’t very successful.
After what seemed like forever and a half Dumbledore took five long, drawn-out steps and sat himself-somewhat dramatically-in the chair near Harry’s bed.
And stared.
Again.
Harry was over it. “Ughm. Professor?”
“Harry, my boy. I’m afraid I have some very bad news. You heard from Miss Granger, I assume, that the Order came in to fight off the Death Eaters at the Ministry.”
“Yeah, Hermione was just finishing telling me that when you got here, sir.”
“Well, you see. When the Order got the information Sirius heard as well. He refused not to go along as well.”
“Is he hurt? Where is he?” Harry was just barely not screaming at the end. It was a near thing.
“Bellatrix, my boy. Bellatrix got him before we could. Threw him right through the veil.”
“What? I...No. NO! That can’t. That can’t be right, professor. I mean. He can’t just be gone.”
Dumbledore was saying something else, but Harry couldn’t hear. Sirius was supposed to be safe. Dumbledore was supposed to keep him safe after failing to get him a trial all those years ago. He’d failed again. Harry hadn’t even thought it was a good idea to go to the Ministry. Why? Why!
His magic was out of control. Raging and lashing out, far beyond his ability to rein in. Glass shattered, showering the room in dangerous, glittering shards. The cabinets blew open, doors ripped from hinges. Potions bottles charmed to be unbreakable broke. The other furniture creaked and groaned under the pressure. The walls bent outward with the force of the magic.
Dumbledore said something else, lifting his wand, and the whole world went dark again.