He had done it.
That was the first thing Tom Riddle thought once he had fled the girls bathroom and had retreated into the safety of the Slytherin common room. He held his diary close with one hand, the other resting upon his chest to push down on his erratic heart beat. He felt sick. No, sick wasn't the proper word for what he was feeling.
He felt like was dying.
'No,' Tom hissed in Parseltongue, voice low as to not attract attention from the very few people remaining in the common room.
He began to pace in a corner, aura unwelcoming. Everyone knew by now not to even go near Tom when he was in one of these moods. The Slytherin's knew their place, and that went for the seventh years as well. No one could match his power in the miserable place.
'Calm thyself,' Tom whispered, eyes beginning to water. His magic felt completely off. It felt vile, almost like poison. Was his magic ruined forever? No! No such thing had been mentioned in Tom's studies about Horcrux's. 'Calm thyself,' Tom whispered again, finally deciding to flee to his bedroom.
His back was stiff as he walked, daring those who were around to even glance at him. None did. As soon as he entered, his dark eyes immediately landed on Kaleen Stryfe, an unwitty and uninteresting boy from a small pureblood family. His blood didn't reach back centuries like most, but instead only a few decades. That wouldn't normally bother Tom, but the boy was just so weak. He was a complete opposite of Tom, and just staring at the other made his already sick body want to retch.
"Be gone!" Tom snapped, tone almost a mixture of Parseltongue and English.
Kaleen squeaked. He dropped the book he had been reading – Charms, Tom noticed – and fled. The door slammed shut behind him, and finally Tom was alone. Tom locked it with a single twitch of his wand before he slid to his knees. His diary fell from his grasp and lay open, the pages blank. For a moment, Tom stared. All his writing, all his thoughts and work, they were gone.
He shut his eyes, body swaying. No! he thought angrily. You are stronger than this!
Taking several deep breathes, Tom raised his wand and silently levitated some ink and a quill over, but on the way over they dropped as he lost control and began to dry heave. Infuriated and disgusted with himself for being so weak, Tom just snatched the items from the ground and all but stabbed the diary with his quill.
Tom waited impatiently as he stared at the messy writing. Normally his writing was so smooth and beautiful, but not now, not when his body felt sick and his magic felt wrong. When nearly a full minute passed without anything happening, Tom almost closed the diary, thinking he had somehow failed the spell, but the words disappeared.
Hello, how are you today?
Tom paused, not sure what to make of it. Just as he was about to dip his quill into his ink, more writing appeared.
A little under the weather, perhaps? I should think so, since I am just flowing in magic at the moment, my other.
Slowly, a dark smile stretched across Tom's face. It had worked. He had actually done it – he had made a Horcrux! He was truly on the path to immortality, and wasn't that just like him, to rub it in his own face?
Perhaps when we make the next Horcrux, dear other, we should do it with a bit more planning. Honestly, what are we, a couple of Gryffindors?
Tom smirked at his smart mouth of a diary, quill already poised with a witty comeback and some dry humor, but then he promptly began to dry heave as his magic struggled to right itself from within…
Harry lay wide awake, unable to fall asleep after waking up from that continual dream. Or really, could it be considered a memory? A memory of Tom making his first Horcrux, that is. And if Harry truly was a Horcrux, did that just make him a copy of Voldemort? Or, like the man had said, a piece of him?
"How many times can you split yourself?" Harry asked himself, sitting up carefully.
The garden snake had been sleeping on his chest, but at the first sign of movement it was awake and moving about. It gave a hissed greeting to Harry as it slithered toward the foot of his bed where it curled up. The garden snake was really useless and uninformative. It could offer Harry no answers simply because it knew nothing. It knew of speakers, yes, but only because it was common knowledge that was practically inbred into all snakes. Again, it was useless, but Harry let it stay. Perhaps when Hedwig returned from wherever she was he would allow her to eat it.
"How many Horcrux's are there?" Harry asked, pacing the room. His back was hunched, body wet and sticky with sweat and his vision blurry. He hadn't even bothered to put on his glasses. "What to do, what to do…" Harry murmured, pondering on just about everything. He wondered if Voldemort's Horcrux's were aware of each other, or at least the ones made when Voldemort had been older. Tom Riddle's diary obviously hadn't known Harry was one, but then again Voldemort could be lying.
"But why does it sound right!" Harry snarled in rage, fist slamming into his wall.
A loud snort from his relative's room made him pause, but when the snoring continued he relaxed. The Dursley's were many things, laziness being a large part of themselves, so it was nigh impossible for them to wake up from a small amount of noise.
Harry moved away from the window and sat down on his bed, dull green eyes staring down at the snake on his bed. Slowly, he ran his fingers down the reptile, smiling a bit as it hissed in thanks. His body heat was most welcome to the little thing, just as its presence was most welcome to Harry. As much as he loathed it, he needed someone or something right now. It didn't matter if that person or thing could talk back, rationalize or even grunt, so long as he knew someone was truly watching his back, his mind could settle a little.
It was such a shame that his company at present was quite dull.
"Alrigh', lad," Dung grunted as he entered Harry's room without so much as a knock a little after one in the afternoon. The con man was smoking heavily on his pipe. Blue smoke was rising steadily, creating a personal little smoke cloud the smelled of blueberries and tobacco. "I've got it righ' 'ere, 'arry."
"Tom," Harry said swiftly, eyes still reading his fifth year transfiguration book. His jaw was tight but he looked resolute.
Dung shifted a bit. "Right." Again he shifted, clearly uncomfortable with this. He fumbled with a small, wooden box with intricate designs that appeared to be runes from a different culture. Harry couldn't be sure; he didn't know anything about that. "Here ye are, Tom."
Harry tossed his book aside and took a proper look at the wooden box Dung had set before him. Carved snakes on all four sides actually slithered in an unending circle, each one trying to nip the other's tail. The little garden snake slithered over, a confused hiss escaping it.
'Don't touch it,' Harry admonished, pushing the snake away.
Immediately, the box lit up in gold light, much to Dung's glee. His eyes went wide and body began to tremble eagerly. His eyes kept darting from Harry to the box and vice versa, only to slump his shoulder's as the glow retreated.
'Do our senses speak the truth?' the snakes hissed as one, causing the little green snake to jerk back in fright and slither away. Harry shook his head hopelessly before averting his attention back to the box. There were a total of five carved snakes on the wooden device and they were all going in a continuous circle around the top part of the lid, each one smaller than the last. 'It has been so long since our creator last touched us, held us close and trusted in us,' they continued to hiss, the wooden scales on their body seemingly glowing with a life like quality.
Harry ran his finger down the largest serpent, mouth quirking upward as they all hissed in delight before frowning and moving his hand away. 'I am sorry to disappoint,' he said, 'but I am not your creator. You were brought to me.' He watched them carefully; wary of any attack or curse that the magical object could create.
The slithering stopped. 'But you speak to us.' Was it possible for hisses to sound dejected?
'I'm sorry,' Harry hissed back, feeling oddly guilty. 'But there have been plenty of speakers before me. A whole family and generations past. Do you truly not know who created you?'
" 'ey, Tom! What are they sayin', eh?" Dung was absolutely jumping in his seat as he stared at the scene play out before him. His eyes watched with an intensity Harry didn't know the man had. His twitchy little fingers seemed to want to inch closer to the box. Harry pulled it closer to his chest and stared down at the still moving snakes.
'A speaker created us. We do not know what our creator's name or even gender. You all look the same, human speaker.' The last part was said sadly.
Harry cleared his throat. 'Well, can you at least tell me what your creator wanted you to hide?'
The snakes continued to circle, seemingly thinking about it. At last, 'We serve speakers. We shall serve your will and desires.'
Harry smiled grimly. 'Then open,' he said smoothly, 'and show me the treasures that you beauties guard with much valor.'
They hissed loudly, obviously pleased with the compliment. They circled once more over the lid before sliding to the sides of the box and biting each others tales and going stiff, creating a full circle of some sort of multi ouroboros, and glowing a bright neon blue. The lid removed itself, and out from it rose several layers of smooth wood looking more like a multilayered jewelry box. Harry's eyes roamed every detail, mentally counting. There were six compartments.
Dung made a strangled sort of choking sound of excitement and lunged, hands wrapping around the box and wrenching it away from Harry. The moment Harry lost contact with the enchanted box the snakes once again glowed a bright neon blue, and to Harry's horror, Dung fell to the ground screaming in pure agony. The sound that was ripped from him sent shivers through Harry's very core. He had never heard a banshee cry her dreaded shriek but he assumed this was about as close as would ever get.
"Oh shit!" Harry all but jumped on Dung as he tried to hold the spasming and screaming man. "Shit, shit!" Harry hissed, trying to wrench the enchanted box away from the con artist, but the man held strong. "Fuck, Dung, let go!" Harry screamed.
Dung continued to scream violently, body shaking like a man who's been possessed. "Fuuu," the man moaned, eyes rolling and actually beginning to cry blood.
Harry grimaced, stomach starting to churn as the bumps starting forming all over his skin. They looked like purple warts and grew faster than Harry could believe before they started to split and oozed purple puss. "Damn it!" Harry took Dung's hands and tried to break the fingers in hope that would get the man to let go.
"What the hell is going on in here!" The door to Harry's tiny room slammed open with a force that Harry didn't know his aunt had. It slammed against his wall with a bang that sounded like thunder and the scream and heavy breathing coming from his aunt was more like a rabid minotaur than a skinny woman. She stalked forward, heavy frying pan in hand, and froze in mid swing. Her eyes bulged out and her mouth gapped like a dying fish.
Harry froze, staring at his aunt in shock, his limbs trying in vain to remove Dung's hands. The split moment of shock wore off when another scream echoed throughout the house and Harry was once again giving his seedy friend is full attention.
"Fuck!" he shouted as Dung accidently kneed him during another round of violent seizures. He glared at the enchanted box and concentrated. 'Stop it!' he ordered. 'I command you to stop!'
The snakes hissed in agitation. 'Thief!' they raged. 'We hurt any that try and steal us!'
'Remove the curse now,' Harry hissed forcefully, 'or I will make sure you are destroyed in the worst possible way!'
The sound they made was perhaps the most distressing sound Harry had ever heard from a snake, enchanted or not. The glowing stopped and the box finally fell from Dung's grasp where it clattered to the floor and once again closed and locked itself. Harry raised Dung up, dragging him to his bed.
"Either help or get the fuck out!" Harry snarled at his aunt, green eyes burning with frustration. She gapped some more, cooking pan falling from her grasp in shock where it fell with a few loud clangs, and bolted for the exit, door banging shut. "Fucker," Harry grimaced, trying to avoid the oozing purple puss.
"Auu," Dung moaned, body still shaking. He opened glazed eyes, head rolling and saliva dripping from his mouth. "Broke one…" He broke off with a harsh cough and shiver. "Broke one of my ferst rules," Dung finally choked out. "Never touch somethin' without checkin' it." He coughed some more and rose a shaky hand to his chest, feebly trying to find something in his inner coat pocket. " 'arry, portkey," he hacked. "Green pebble…"
Harry reacted quickly and searched frantically the inner workings of Dung's coat. He feared it would be a lost cause because the man appeared to have dozens of pockets that were charmed to hold different amounts of items or only specific nick knacks. Dung, it appeared, had mostly junk, at least to Harry's eyes, though he did pull out a diamond necklace. He all but tossed the items on his bed before; at long last, he pulled out a smooth pebble that looked a bit like green sandstone.
"Now what?" Harry demanded, turning the stone over in his hand.
Dung gave a deep shuddering breath, bumps beginning to ooze at an alarming rate all over Harry's bed. "Get da box," he rasped. "Need it."
"It's what did this to you!" Harry snarled. "No way am I letting you touch it again."
Dung gave another choked cough. "Need signature," he hissed, eyes shutting tight. "Hold it an' me," he commanded, "and say burning coals. Take us ta the hostpital." He shuddered again, his head tilting to the side.
"Dung?" Hesitantly, Harry brought his fingers to the conman's neck. It took a moment, but when he finally found the pulse he breathed a sigh of relief before removing himself from the other man and made his way to the enchanted box and glared down at it. 'I'm going to pick you up now,' Harry warned. "We're going to the healers and they'll examine what you did.'
The wooden snake carving hissed in dismay. 'We only did what we were meant to do. Protect master.'
Harry's lip curled as he gazed at the box before giving a deep sigh. Bending down, and hesitating for the briefest moment, Harry grabbed the enchanted box and grasped Dung tightly. He could vaguely hear his aunt screaming downstairs, but the moment Harry all but shouted "Burning coals!" the world dissolved around him as he felt a jerk from his naval. The world spun fiercely and Dung made a sound like he was about to vomit.
The two slammed to the ground hard enough to bruise and if Harry wasn't dizzy from the trip he certainly was now from the impact. "Help!" Harry barked, rolling away from Dung in a haze. His stomach churned and he wondered if he would be the one to throw up, but people in white cloaks began to surround them and Harry had to push his discomfort aside.
Harry looked up at a white ceiling and blinked before he felt someone haul him to his feet, arms barely remaining wrapped around the enchanted box. "He got cursed," Harry gasped out, looking behind him to the man holding him up. He had bright turquoise hair that would have surprised Harry if he wasn't so wrapped up in thinking about Dung and chocolate brown eyes. His pale hand steered Harry to a chair and sat him down.
Blinking a few times and taking a deep breath, Harry finally looked around. The portkey seemed to have taken them to the front desk of a wizard hospital. A few people passed, and the moment he laid eyes on the little girl screaming bloody murder as a gold cuff with large sapphires burned away her whole arm, he knew he was not in St. Mungo's.
"What happened?" the healer demanded, eyes staring into Harry's. "What has that fool messed with?"
A bit taken aback, Harry quickly showed the item he was holding. "Wait," Harry said quickly as the man attempted to take it from him. "It attacks people who aren't me," he said quickly, and it was sort of true.
The turquoise haired man grimaced. "Alright then. Come with me while we do diagnostics. It's probably just a blood curse." He rolled his eyes as if it were a common occurrence for people to get cursed to the brink of death by simple items. Although, after following the healer and taking in the people that were either eating their own vomit, clawing their own eyes out or even trying to rape any person that came close to them, it probably was a common occurrence.
"Relation to the patient?" the healer asked, wand out in front of him and making jabbing motions at a bit of parchment that glowed with gold letters.
"Er, friend," Harry answered, stepping out of the way of a screaming man that appeared to obtained bug eyes and was currently bleeding out of them.
"Patients name?" Harry faltered for a moment, not entirely sure if he should give away Dung's name. "We do not disclose any patient information," the healer said in a bored tone, probably used to people's hesitation. He turned to stare at Harry, eyes slowly raising to Harry scar and raised an eyebrow. "Or anyone else's for that matter."
Harry cleared his throat awkwardly and patted his hair down. "Mundungus Fletcher," he finally answered as they turned into the room Dung had been taken to. Two healers were already over him, wands glowing purple as they ran a diagnostic test.
"Oi, its Fletcher again," the healer informed his fellows with a sigh.
"Yea, we figured," the only female healer in the room answered, brushing a lock of gold hair away from her eyes. "Seen this bugger long enough. What number is this? The sixty-fifth?"
"And here I thought we were in the eighties," the other, a man with a few wrinkles and graying hair, said with a laugh. "What is it, Nalen?"
"Might be family curse," the turquoise haired man by Harry's side said. He turned to Harry. "When he touched the object did it give off any glows? Shoot out any creature?"
"The snakes carved into it glowed blue. A bright blue like neon," Harry said, pointing to the snakes for the healers to see. They gave a hiss of distress and they backed off.
"Alright, neon colors usually tend to be curses. Did it sparkle or change color? Physically bite him or come to life?"
"No," Harry answered. "He couldn't let go of it at first."
"At first?" Nalen pressed, adding more notes to his parchment with his wand.
"He let go after a few minutes," Harry lied. "After the warts burst the glowing stopped."
The older man gave a sigh. "Look, kid," he said with clear exasperation. "I can see that this is your first time at our lovely little medical facility, but I don't have time to deal with lies. We aren't Mungo's where we'll turn you in or some bullshit. We are made specifically for people who have dealt with dark magic, now tell me the truth or I'll stick you in a room with the little boy we have with us that is currently spraying acid at every living being."
Harry stared, eyes wide and fingers clenching in shock. "I, uh, ordered it to let go," he finally managed weakly.
The man stared hard for a moment before finally grinning. "There! Now that wasn't so hard now was it?" Harry felt his lip curl in irritation. "Now boy, what happened?"
Harry took a deep breath. "I opened it," he gestured to the box in his hands "and Dung grabbed it out of my hands. The moment he touched it he fell to the ground shaking and screaming. Those wart things came soon after. I ordered it to stop and it did."
Nalen peered at the box in Harry's hands. "Sentient," he remarked to the others.
"Carvings and sculptures tend to have some awareness for security purposes," the female healer commented, wand going from purple to orange. Her blue eyes rested on Dung's face, taking in the bumps and ooze. "Alright, got it," she said, wand now glowing white. "It's just a disease curse. If he had held on any longer he would have only a few days to live," she continued in a curious manner. "He's got about a week if we leave him right now."
"Still, let's check the item first," Nalen said with a lazy drawl. He turned back to Harry. "Go ahead and just place it on the counter." Once Harry had put it down the man aimed his wand high and moved it clockwise. "Consecro Sacro," he intoned. Gray light erupted from his wand and encircled the enchanted box. Immediately neon blue, orange, pink and purple light shot up like fireworks and burst into more bits of light before fading away. He gave a whistle. "Hoo boy! This puppy is just full of disease curses – oh! Even one animation hex for dead skin cells! Some family heirloom, kid!" He laughed loudly. "Not quite good enough for the wall, though," he told the others.
The girl grinned. "Still trying to beat Halenn's cursed bracelet that created a black hole inside its victim?"
Harry just watched the healers with a sort of morbid fascination. This place was nothing like he'd ever seen. Even the people of Knocturn Alley had nothing on the minds of these people. "So… is he going to be alright?" Harry finally interrupted.
"He'll be fine," Nalen said, waving a hand in disinterest. "We'll take a few skin and puss samples, create a potion and he'll be fine to leave in three days. For now we'll be stabilizing him." Nalen nodded to his coworkers as they managed to slow the oozing puss and began applying a paste to his whole body.
"They're just everywhere," the older healer mumbled in pity once they removed Dung's clothing. They were quite literally everywhere.
"Will you be staying with Mr. Fletcher or would you like to use the floo?" Nalen offered.
Harry looked down at Dung, thoughts racing as he considered his options and what he would have to face once he returned. "I'll wait," Harry said, sitting down on the uncomfortable chair against the wall.
Nalen nodded. "Alright. If you have any questions your know where the front desk is but if an emergency happens please alert us." He gestured at a little statue of a parrot. "Just squeeze it and it will alert us. We'll return in a bit with the potion. He shouldn't wake up until then but since he wasn't in contact too much with the cursed item he might wake up in just a few hours. If he's in too much pain you're welcome to stun him yourself or just call one of us in."
"Alright," Harry said, eyebrows raised at the 'stun him yourself' thing. With a nod of respect, the two other healers left, leaving just Harry and Nalen.
The turquoise haired man walked up to Harry and gestured for Harry to stand. Wary, Harry did so before glaring outright as Nalen all but put his face close to his. "Hmm, multiple lacerations, each less than an inch long, appear to cover most of the outside of the body..." Nalen grabbed Harry's wrist and brought it to eyelevel. "Oh, enough of that," he admonished at Harry's angry growl. "I work with kids, so don't think a little hissy fit will scare me." He also ignored Harry's murderous glare. "Do you have any cuts inside your mouth?"
Harry studied the healer before him, taking in everything he could. "No," he bit out, wrenching his hand out of Nalen's grip.
"You got off lucky then," Nalen murmured before fishing out a tiny vial filled with a pink potion. "It will heal cuts, infections and cut down any small leveled spell that would block healing.
Hesitantly, and feeling slightly annoyed that he had forgotten about the numerous amount of cuts covering nearly every inch of his body, Harry took the potion. "Thanks."
Nalen grinned. "Hey, part of my job." He made for the door and turned just before shutting it. "Welcome to Starrygriffin, the hospital for the illegals, Mr. Potter." With a cheeky grin and a little wave, Nalen left.
Harry watched him go, body slumping in the chair and eyes becoming half lidded as he stared at Dung for a moment before turning his gaze on the box. His thoughts went back to that moment when Dung took the stupid object without thinking. The fool had paid for it, and Harry was honestly surprised and horrified to see something like this happen to a friend. He had been so desperate to learn about the dark arts in that one moment and Dung had willingly agreed to help Harry even if for a price.
He had rushed into things blindly, and even though Harry knew it wasn't his fault, this was still a lesson.
'Damn it,' Harry hissed, sneering bitterly as he wished to be the one to bring this sort of chaos upon his enemies.
It took the whole day for Dung to finally awake with long, pain filled groan. He attempted to stretch, moaned in pain, and gave up before turning about to figure out where he was. "Bugger me," he moaned weakly, voice having a slight gurgle to it, almost as if he had water caught in his throat.
Harry, whom had been conversing with the enchanted snake box, stopped and gave him a grim smile that held no warmth. "First rule, huh?" he taunted. He felt like he had the right to chastise this man who, was not only a member of the Order of the Phoenix, but was a dark arts dealer and an adult to boot. Honestly, he should have known better. "It's late," Harry said softly, watching the look of panic shoot across Dung's wrinkly and oily face.
Shock spread through Dung's limbs as he turned his attention toward the window. The sun had already set and the stars were clear. " 'Ow long was I asleep?" he groused.
"The whole day," Harry replied flippantly, fingers caressing the wooden snakes. They made crooning sounds, obviously pleased with the attention. "I'm afraid I threw a lot of your belongings out of your coat in search of the hospitals portkey. If no one has moved them I'm sure they are still on my bed, though with the Dursley's greed I have no doubt some were taken." Harry paused, seemingly in thought. "Although, gathering how late it is there is a large chance that another Order member came snooping about, wondering where we are."
Dung's eyes widened, mouth gapping as he stared at Harry. The boy had a smooth smile on his face, looking entirely too content with the situation. Slowly, purposefully, Dung rose into a sitting position and took a deep breath. This was serious. " 'arry," he said meaningfully, "oh god, boy." He took another deep breath. "We've bodged things up thing real bad. Bugger, bugger," he hissed. He would be in so much trouble with Order. What would they do to him, keep him on lockdown? Kick him out?
"You need to calm down," he heard Harry say. "Despite what you, Dumbledore and his little band of merry crew, Harry Potter is and always has been just a student. Dumbledore, his Headmaster, and the Order, were unhired watchers." Dung's eyebrows puckered up, wondering if he was still out of it. Had the boy just referred to himself in third person? Harry moved closer to him, and the shady man was sure it wasn't just his imagination that the room got colder. "Therefore Harry Potter has the right to leave his property whenever he wants to without repercussions." Dung watched the dark haired boy tilt his head to the side, looking down at him, eyes shining.
"Can you imagine how people would react if the great Albus Dumbledore wasn't just keeping the worlds golden poster child locked up in a house full of bigoted muggles, but his own man was teaching the boy the dark arts?" Harry smiled, teeth seeming sharper than usual.
Dung blubbered, completely blown away. " 'arry, what the hell are you saying? I-I thought you wanted this."
Harry chuckled. It was an eerie sound that made Dung's hair stand on end. "Oh, Harry Potter wanted to learn the dark arts alright." It was said fondly. The boy even had a soft look, but that shifted so quickly Dung wasn't sure if he had imagined it.
" 'ary, what… what's going? What's wrong?" he demanded, looking Harry over. There something terribly wrong with this situation.
"Call me Tom, Mundungus," Harry ordered, voice sharp.
Dung jumped, feeling cold sweat run down his body. He rubbed at the goosebumps on his arms, severely uncomfortable. He cleared his throat awkwardly. "Tom," he said hollowly, not looking at the young man he had become fond of.
"Look at me." Again that voice broached no argument.
The shivers were in full force as Dung slowly raised his head. The moment he laid eyes on those green one's Harry's hand shot out like a viper, gripping his neck in a possessive hold that would make a boa constrictor proud. Dung's fingers clawed at the hand around," his neck. It had no effect other than to draw blood, and from the way the dark grin spread even wider Harry was enjoying it. He closed his eyes and kept them shut, just listening to the disgusting man's choked calls for help before he once more opened his eyes, purposefully slow.
Dung let out a loud squeak, eyes wide with fright and tongue hanging out loosely as he began to loose consciousness. It was only when his vision began to grow dark did the unrelenting grip loosen enough for him to take greedy gulps of air.
"Now you listen to me, you pathetic excuse for a wizard," Harry sneered, red eyes narrowed in obvious glee at his fear. "If you ever endanger my personal possession with your idiocy or attempt to teach him the dark arts in any way I will have you brought to my chambers where I will allow my Death Eaters to play with you. You will feel nothing but pure agony for days, never once getting a moment of peace. When one tires I will have a new Death Eater take his or her place, and I can assure you each and everyone of my servants has their own creative and unique ways to cause pain in ways you have never even imagined."
Dung could feel tears flowing freely, mixing with the blood on Harry's hand as it continued to hold him down. He sniffled in fear, doing nothing but listen to the possessed boy.
"And do not think for a moment I will release you from your pain. Oh no, death will not come to you, nor will it come to those who feel they can do what they want with my possession." Those red eyes glared down at him, and Dung could imagine that they weren't looking at him but his very soul. "Harry Potter is mine," he hissed. "Do you understand, you revolting man?"
Again Dung could only gap, but when those eyes narrowed dangerously he nodded quickly. "I-I-I get it!" he shrieked.
Impossibly, those eyes softened to a concerned gaze and the possessed boy patted his still wart covered face. "I'm glad you understand," he said mockingly. "Now do get yourself healed, my pet has a nasty habit of getting himself into trouble without adult supervision, even if they are useless beings."
Dung had felt like his insides were being ripped out just by listening to the crazed individual, and when he dropped to the floor in an unconscious slump on the floor, no longer possessed, Dung felt himself get a little warm, only to realize he had wet himself. Trying to keep the tears and jitters at bay, Dung carefully removed himself from the bed and lifted Harry up and place him on a chair.
The hassled man worked quickly. He magicked the stink and wetness away and dressed rapidly, uncaring on the pain his body was in. He needed to get away, get away from it all for a while, but first he still had to get Harry home. He was scared shitless, and he didn't want to be anywhere near the boy no matter how guilty he felt, but his life was at stake here.
Shifting through the various pockets of his coat, Dung brought out a silver flask with a leather grip. Carefully, he tilted Harry's head back and let the liquid soak his mouth until it ran down it chest. When Harry completely smelled like he had been at the biggest party of his life, Dung stopped, magicked some of him dry, though not very much for effect, and carefully raised the boy onto his shoulders.
He took a deep breath, face still wet with tears. "Sorry, 'arry," he whispered, not even bothering to grab the cursed item that had put them in this mess, and apparated back to the Dursley's.
It was near complete chaos, much to Dung's shock. He had expected a full blown panic with them both being gone. But no, the elder Dursley's were out on the porch, screaming at an angry Remus Lupin. The poor werewolf looked ready to give in to his inner beast and rip them apart.
"I told you we don't know where the freak went!" Petunia Dursley screeched. If there hadn't been any spells in place there would be quite a crowd. "We left him alone when one of you began screaming bloody murder!"
Dung sighed, eyes still leaking. He looked around. Not one Order member had turned around. There were seven, including Remus, and it appeared that they casting spells over the premises to see if any dark magic had been performed. He recognized a few of them but wasn't personally close with them Well, might as well alert them.
"Oi!" he yelled, voice thankfully sounding slurred. It would add to his story.
As one the entire crowd turned. This time chaos erupted as they demanded to know where they had been and why the hell Harry was hanging off his shoulder like a dead man.
"Harry!" Remus screamed, all but snatching the boy from Dung's arms. He growled at the man, eyes flashing yellow. "What happen?" he demanded, nostrils flaring and only then catching the fowl smell of firewhiskey. "Has…" He stumbled with his words. "Has Harry been drinking?" His voice was incredulous, almost as if he couldn't remember being a stressed teen.
"Yea, about dat…"
AN: Alright, first off – I'm really sorry about how long it has taken to update this. My mind has not been focusing on fanfiction for a while and I just moved. Hopefully I'll get the next update out sooner.
Second – Sorry if it seems like Harry's personality is all over the place. I'm trying to make this a slow transaction between Harry being Harry, to insanity, rebuilding and then Tom. I had really wanted to rush this but I think I'm enjoying this a bit too much to make this too short chapter.
Anyway, hope you enjoyed it!