Chapter 12
"We can't kill him, it would destroy the timeline."
Ron still looked mutinous at Hermione's impatient words. Harry didn't know what to think at all. He'd never expected this to happen – he still didn't know how it had.
One second, he had been battling Voldemort at Malfoy manor, after the Snatchers caught them and now…well, now had got a lot more complicated.
"We can make a better timeline without him," the redhead insisted. "Right, Harry?"
"No," Hermione's lips thinned. "Because we are here because of the existing timeline. If we kill him, or even change things, we risk creating a paradox. Awful things happen to people who meddle with time! I've told you that!"
And yet, how could they just quietly do nothing? Knowing everything that Voldemort would do? So many people could be happier if things were different. How could he just sit back? No.
"We changed it in Third Year," Harry said.
"Third year was small," Hermione snapped. "It was an hour. The further back you go, the less you can control it, honestly!"
"Well we can't just sit here!" Ron's face was turning puce.
Tom Riddle, when Harry watched him from across the street, looked deceptively sweet. He was sitting alone in London, despite the current climate, thin and shivering in grey clothes that reminded Harry horribly of how he must have appeared once himself.
Maybe that was the reason he hesitated.
Scarlet eyes and serpentine features was one thing, a very human little boy was rather more difficult to kill. He spent days on it, and Hermione contacted Professor Dumbledore for help. Because he would know what to do about their situation.
He couldn't do it. He tried, he tried to bring himself to raise a wand to the child but the more he watched the more he wondered about if things were different.
"We can still change him," he said softly. "He hasn't done anything yet." His hand tightened around the Elder Wand. "Maybe that's why we were sent back in the first place, to change it?"
"Well, I'm not doing it," Ron said, flatly. "He's not exactly a nice kid, is he?"
"Hermione, you do it. I can't even look at him!" Harry's nails bit into his skin. "You're clever."
But in the end it was still him. Of course it was. He, with his Parseltongue and the Prophecy.
He, with his body shrinking and shifting younger for unknown causes. Hermione theorized it was the toll of being the focal point that dragged them all back in time. Everything trying to compensate. Some old magic that none of them understood.
"You're sure about this?" Hermione asked.
"Yeah, we can still kill him, mate," Ron added. Harry squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, but nodded nonetheless. Tried to figure out when this had become his life, as Dumbledore studied him with a strange expression on his face.
"Do it."
"I'll make sure you're okay," Hermione promised. Better her than Ron, too characteristic of his family and his blood. Logical. Harry's ears were ringing.
"Just do it."
"Obliviate."
It was overwhelming.
All the details of a past life, of the Boy Who Lived and Lord Voldemort. Of Hallows and Horcruxes, and theories as to how this could have all happened. Of Prophecies.
Harry couldn't breathe.
He didn't…remember, but when Ron showed him the snatches of memories, proof after proof of truth or some ridiculously elaborate deception…he didn't know.
"It never even occurred to me that I could love him, did it?" he asked numbly. "Not really."
Ron side-eyed him at that comment, but Harry could barely think straight. He felt like a marionette with all of its strings cut. He swallowed. "The Paris poisonings then…was that…?"
"We weren't the first people to time travel, you know," Ron said. "That's what the Order originally was. The Order, for the balance of time. Phoenix, for the rise and fall of new lives and time periods."
Well, that just raised more questions. Harry rubbed his temples, able to feel a headache blooming.
"So the Order was behind the Paris poisonings." Something lurched awful in his gut. The evasion was too much. Weasley – Ron – shook his head.
"Not all of us."
"Not all of you?" Harry growled. Ron looked at him, something fierce in his expression.
"If you had your memories, you would understand. You would have seen what the future was like, and you would see that it is happening all over again, despite everything." The other man's voice cracked. "It's almost bloody well worse than before, and he's not going to stop, is he? Voldemort." Ron's lips twisted, staring at him in challenge. "We should have killed him when we had the chance."
"That would cause a paradox," Harry began.
"That depends on which version of time travel you believe in. It is much debated among the factions of the Order of the Phoenix. There are those who believe in order, and non-interference, and then there are the rest of us who aren't afraid to fight." Ron's chin jutted up. "This could be a parallel universe, for all that we really know. He's a monster!"
Harry couldn't believe this – and he stared at the redhead incredulously, recoiled at the words. Of course, he could imagine the suffering Weasley had seen, he could see it reflected in his eyes. Harry had suffered too, even if he couldn't remember his last time, but this…surely this helped nothing?
But he could, awfully, understand. He felt that way himself sometimes, that it was just hopeless, and that nothing could ever go right again. He'd joined the resistance, after all. He was still fighting to change things, but…
"He was a man once. He can get better. I believe in him - I – I have to."
Ron looked at him like maybe they were strangers after all. There was an odd feeling in Harry's gut.
"You can't be serious," the redhead bit out. "We tried that, and it didn't work. You didn't change anything. It was like throwing a pebble in a stream, and all the water just converged back to the same path again around it."
Harry's expression began to harden in turn, his palms tingling.
It was a shock to realize he even believed in Tom at all, anymore. He'd thought he didn't, that war was the only option left. War, or running away to someone and somewhere else because he couldn't face looking at the monster the man had turned into. And Tom was a monster now.
And yet the hope wouldn't die. The quiet belief that maybe, just maybe, he could still somehow turn this around. Or, at least, that he wasn't ready to let Tom go yet. That there was more to him than what he had become. Maybe that made all the difference.
"Harry," Weasley pressed, leaning in, eyes ablaze. "Don't. Don't do this. Don't even think about it. You can't save him. You never could. There's nothing in him worth saving! And if you believe there is, that's just because he tricked you. He's using your feelings against you. If you could just remember-"
But Harry didn't want to remember. He didn't want to remember that life, when he knew he would never be able to look at Tom in the same way again. Didn't want to try, when sometimes in the early hours of the morning he could already hear a woman screaming in his head for mercy.
Maybe memory would make it easier to move on, but…
It was hard enough bearing the weight of his own life and staying standing, without carrying the trauma of somebody else's too. He'd go mad with the strain of it, he was sure.
Maybe that was what had broken Tom, made him what he was now. There had to be something. But the knowledge of Horcruxes nagged at his brain now. Did his Tom know about those too?
Harry had never heard of them before.
Surely his Tom would never have been so stupid as to make Horcruxes? Or was that why he had changed? Growing paranoid.
"Did Voldemort get sent back too?" he asked, very quietly. "His soul was already here. It's not the same as it was with us. You said something about a wand?"
"The Deathly Hallows," Ron said, folding his arms, looking uncomfortable. "But that doesn't matter. That's just how we got here, we think. What matters is the Prophecy. We've had agents go to the Hall of Prophecy in the Ministry-"
Harry didn't want to hear about that either. He didn't want to hear about fate, or anything that involved the idea that things could never change.
"Tell me about the Deathly Hallows."
Ron eyed him, seeming increasingly mistrustful of him. Which, frankly, for the sake of information wasn't good. Harry tried to arrange his expression to something he imagined Ron's Harry would be like, as opposed to Tom's Harry – and merlin, since when did he begin living by other people's impressions anyway?
"Three objects created by death," the redhead said eventually. "A wand, a cloak, and a ring. You are currently technically in possession of all of them, which is one of the reasons we think things backfired and sent us here. You were hit by the killing curse, before. It….well, it took out most people around you too."
Harry had heard that story, that fairytale, and the very thought of it being true left his mouth dry. Because he certainly didn't have that wand currently – he had a Holly and Phoenix feather wand, that he loved dearly. And it seemed an even stranger thought that he could be the Master of Death.
"Obviously, there can only be one version of the wand in existence in any universe at any time," Ron said, as if reading his mind. "It was absorbed by, or maybe it absorbed I don't really know – Hermione would- the wand of this timeline or universe."
"But what about Voldemort?" Harry insisted again. "If that version of him was there…did he die?"
Ron stared at him for a long moment, before looking down at his drink.
"We don't know. But we need your help."
Harry had been in Slytherin long enough to read the silent whether you agree to give it or not.
Harry didn't know what he had been expecting here either, a search party, some sign of concern?
He'd been gone for two days, communicating with the Order, learning and trying to get a handle on the situation. When he got back…Tom was hosting a party. A party.
Of course, he'd known vaguely in the back of the mind that the man probably would- even now, he was near constantly networking and consolidating the connections that he already had, but…
Miss Rowle was rather publically at his arm.
Harry's insides dropped. He was standing at the corner of the room, exhausted by the events of the last day - drawn only by the crowd, and how obvious it was that something had happened.
Tom hadn't seen him yet. He could still slip away without further notice, get an early night, talk to Hermione and update his plans for dealing with this pigsty of a situation accordingly.
But he'd wanted to talk to Tom, needed to, to somehow reassure himself that he hadn't made the wrong choice after all. That choosing to fight still for a better option was worth it. To prove to himself that Weasley had been wrong.
"You left, you have no right stare after him like that now. Where have you been?" Abraxas' voice was clipped and cool near his right ear. Harry immediately wanted to punch something. Opened his mouth to reply-
"Oh shut it, Brax. For once, Salazar, just give it a rest." Someone else spoke before he could, and Harry's heart was abruptly hammering, his mouth dry and insides warm.
"Alphard…"
It had been a long time.
Outside of Tom, Alphard Black had probably been his best friend among the Slytherins, and that fact weighed with an uncomfortable heaviness on the back of his neck now. Abraxas looked between them for a second, before rather unnervingly smiling.
"Stay out of trouble, Black. Harry, it is good to see you returned safely to us."
Abraxas disappeared, leaving Alphard standing at his side. Harry's gaze darted over him, more worn than when he'd last seen him, before scanning the room again with a bit more attention than it required. Most people, knowing him as the leader of the rebels, kept a wary distance.
Tom would notice his presence within the next minute. Probably sooner.
"I'm going to-" he began. Alphard grabbed his arm, steering him out the room and to the corridor outside, before rounding on him. The Black Lord's face had turned a funny colour.
"It's been a long time," he said. Harry sighed, softly.
"Too long. Though I'm sure you understand the necessity," he replied.
"You didn't even say goodbye. You just disappeared."
"And what would you have done if I came to you to say goodbye?" Harry dared, very quietly. Alphard's fists clenched at his sides. "I wouldn't put you in that position."
"Maybe that wasn't your choice to make."
Harry looked away again, down at the floor - anywhere that wasn't Alphard's eyes, and the way they were drinking in the sight of him. Too raw. Revealing too much. He knew it wasn't a coincidence, after all, that he hadn't run into Alphard yet, despite his being here for a while now.
Tom had always been the jealous, possessive sort.
Iif he had gone to see Alphard, before he joined the order...well. There was far too strong a chance that the man might have come with him. Given up everything too. Got himself killed.
At that stage, anyone associated with Harry, who picked Harry over the Dark Lord, were in danger of an immediate death sentence. It was why he couldn't hold it against his former friends, both dead and alive, for not standing with him. He just couldn't forget that they didn't, either.
But Harry didn't want to think about any of that now. And he wanted to think about Alphard and the possibility of the other man following him even less. As if he didn't have enough problems. His chest felt tight, and somehow in light of all that he'd learned the fact that Tom was schmoozing with his new fiance on his arm seemed an even more unforgivable betrayal.
What had he thought? That because Harry had some stupid shift in resolve to see this through and make sure things got better, that Tom would miraculously mirror the sentiment and be any less of a bastard than he had been before?
"What's done is done," Harry muttered. "You don't seem to have done too badly for yourself out of the deal."
Alphard had always been good at playing the game, for all his facade of humour.
"I'd punch you, but you'd break my arm before I made contact," Alphard said, coldly. Harry glanced at him. Blood pounding through his head, throat thick.
"I'm sorry, for what it's worth-" he began.
"Don't." The sheer vehemence, the way Alphard's voice actually cracked, made Harry pause. The Black took a slow step closer to him, and then another. "Don't pretend. This will never not come down to Tom, will it? Even after you left him, it was always about him. You say you're doing this for me, but it's not me. You can't bear to give anyone else the chance of loving you."
Harry sucked in a sharp breath.
"He would kill you," he growled, gaze snapping up. "Do you really think that he wouldn't? He would kill you now, and he would have killed you back then if you ever picked me over him. So fine, I didn't give you the bloody choice You can hardly blame me for not wanting to have your blood on my-"
"-So you're going to be alone forever in fear of what he might do to people?"
He really didn't need this right now. His expression hardened.
"You're stepping out of line, Black," he hissed. "Do not take liberties with me that you no longer have. That you never had."
He knew it was cruel when Alphard looked like he'd been slapped, all of the colour draining from his face. Harry immediately wanted to apologize. Even if Alphard was head of Tom's security, and had frontlined the war.
"You deserve better. If you'd been mine, I would have never picked anything else over the risk of losing you."
Harry swore, glaring now. Feeling dangerously close to crumbling, to making it easy for himself.
"Oh Merlin, Alphard-"
"No!" the man snapped, quivering, but not backing down now. "Shut up, Harry. You left, you don't owe him anything anymore. He made his choice. Let me make mine."
And Alphard's mouth crushed against his.
Tom had considered sending out a search party, but to do that suggested he wasn't in control. That he needed Harry back in some far too public capacity.
But at night he could barely breathe.
He'd thought that he'd gotten used to not knowing where Harry was - but it was like the first time all over again. The month after Harry left, and absolutely everything served as a reminder of the absence.
So of course he needed a distraction. A proof. He needed to smooth everything over as their investigation was ongoing, and provide enough of himself publicly to act as a bait if it was truly the members of the conference being targeted. By someone. For some reason.
"He's back." Abraxas appeared as his side, murmuring the words into his ear. "Outside in the corridor. He refused to explain where he's been."
"We're about to give the speech," Miss Rowle reminded him, from his other side. Grip tightening on his arm.
He had already disentangled himself to stride through the crowd, murmuring a quick excuse and passing her another flute of champagne distractedly. Rage boiled in his chest. Incandescent, uncontrollable fury that Harry had the sheer audacity to do this. To make him...to make things inconvenience.
They were in the middle of an investigation! The man couldn't just leave for an extended period of time with no warning. It could have been anything! He could have been kidnapped by the opposition.
It wouldn't have been difficult to send a no-
The rage flooded with ice.
Harry moaned as the lips crashed against his, warm and demanding and - he shoved Alphard off after he got over his surprise. People really needed to stop thinking they could just kiss him without permission. Though at least when he was kissing he didn't have to think.
"Alphard-" his breathing was heavy, insides squirming between a strange, selfish want, and pity.
"I do hope I'm not interrupting anything."
Tom's voice was perfectly even, but Harry sprung back from Alphard as if he'd been scalded. Alphard didn't look like he regretted it one bit, eyes aflame, but Harry's heart was racing. He resisted the urge to wipe his mouth, squaring his shoulders.
"Tom-"
"That would be 'my lord', to you."
And then suddenly Harry was livid, rounding on the bastard. Because he knew what the sudden tone was about, he wasn't stupid!
"Oh fuck you," he snapped. "You have a fiance."
It was abruptly, all too much. All of this was too much.
The prevalence of Voldemort across time periods, and universes, and the fact that apparently the only way to stop any of this was for one of them to kill each other. And Alphard was still there, looking unbearably smug and right now Harry hated the lot of them.
And then Abraxas was there too, meeting Harry's gaze with a challenge and suddenly the specifics of what had happened seemed abundantly clear and Harry went from rage to murder. Malfoy's expression was as impassive as always as he looked to Tom.
"My lord, everyone is ready for your speech."
Harry's fists clenched at his sides.
"Go," his voice cracked. "You actually were interrupting."
Why did he say that? He didn't want to say that - but the sight of Rowle on Tom's arm had burst into his mind again with full force. And, maybe, if Voldemort was focused on that, he wouldn't notice anything else.
Alphard's arm snaked around his waist, defiantly.
Something flickered in Voldemort's eyes.
"Something is wrong. What is it? What have you found out?"
Harry's heart crashed, his knees going weak. Fury deflating.
Of course Tom would notice, even now. Some of the smugness left Alphard's face.
"We'll talk later."
"Potter."
"Tom. Please."
Voldemort's eyes widened, just slightly. He hesitated for a moment, before his expression was masked again.
He walked back into the ballroom without another word.
A/N: Not sure if it's my best chapter or not, I had writers block and it was all a bit plotty. But I hope you enjoyed the update. Next time, you should properly see the ramifications of what's happened, and all that Harry has learned.