|
Vera )1955( Mounted over him, Sara was oddly silent. He loved her for her voice over all things. In fact, it was how they met. He had been in a busy pub and had become intoxicated with the sound of a woman four booths down. When he came over and complimented her, she had clicked her tongue at him and told him he would have to try harder. Easily, he found and tracked her movements, showing up wherever she was, learning her likes, dislikes, habits and mannerisms. Carefully, he formed himself to her idea of the prefect man. Within a month, she was a near permanent fixture in his bed, her lovely voice rolling over him at whim. It's melodic tones made her one of the most famous mesmerists in the world. During sex, it could pull the most delicious sensations from him, a puppeteer and her willing marionette. But tonight, silent and fucking herself on his shuddering, heaving body, it was clear something was amiss. Sapphire eyes bore into the headboard. "Have I got spots on my face?" He joked, trying to cajole her attention back. "Shh...listen." The thrum of their magic in the air was hitting glorious notes, barely audible, more intuitively felt then heard. Tom sensed them before during sex. The more power, the louder and more complex the tune grew. "What about it?" "Can't you hear..." And suddenly, he could. A terrible dissonance, whispering at first, and then cascading into tortured screeches. By the time he came, it was incidental to the deformation of their magic. "What was that?" He panted as she collapsed next to him. "You don't want to get married. Not to me." "Of course I do!" he sat up, sick to his stomach. "I have some reservations, but so does every groom." "It is." She soothed. "But it's more then that." "Our magic always sang together before. Hell, I've had lovers with no music at all. It doesn't mean everything." "It's not the music!" Sara never got mad. It bothered him as much as it attracted him, her perfect composure. Even Avarus could be roused if just the right buttons were pushed. Now, the queen of composure, watched him from where she lay with the slightest irritation tightening around her mouth. "The wedding is in two months away. Why is everything wrong now?" "I wanted to think I could make you forget, but itÍs always there. This ghost. I could only see it with you when we talked about the wedding or children. Then it started pouring into everything, mundane conversation, and casual moments...everything, except sex. And now that too." "What ghost? What are you talking about?" "I don't know. But it's there nonetheless." She stood, wrapping the sheet toga like around her. "This is insane!" "Don't lie to me!" She moved towards the bathroom. "And don't worry about the wedding. I'll call it off. Even make it look like it's my fault so as not to damage your precious reputation. Our time was not meant to last. I see that now." "Sara!' "Go." Only then did her voice crack and then she was in the bathroom, locking herself in. He tried to reason and plead with her through the door, trying to avoid listening to her weep. Only when his fists were bloody from pounding on her door and his voice raw from reasoning, did he decide to leave. He would return tomorrow when everything was calmer. Back in his own flat he spent the night pacing and practicing what he would say to her tomorrow morning. With dawn came the post, including a thick letter from Harry. It was filled with trivial things, just like all their letters. He read and reread it and then masturbated in the shower with the smell of Harry's cedar desk still on his hands. Cleaning up, the time took him by surprise and he rushed to his morning meeting. Only as he was making his apologies did he remember Sara. But the negotiations once begun could not be ended. It was hours before he could get away. He apparated directly to her flat. It was empty, of course, but her perfume still lingered. He had no doubt he would not find her now. The engagement contract lay on the stripped bed. Her signature neatly removed from it. With a gesture, it burned taking the bed mattress and soon the bed they had shared. Once it was ash, he extinguished the flames and left, feeling at once hollow and lighter. )1957( The mismatched pair stood, staring at one another next to the portkey slot. "Do you think it's for good this time?" "He's never said it was before." Avarus hedged. "I know what he says, but.." "Yes, but. " Minerva sighed and shifted her weight to her other foot. "Have they talked at all?" "Letters only. Polite, informative missives. Or so he says." "Would he lie?" "No, but he never needs to tell the truth, least of all in this." "And the marriage is off?" "For a year now. You know all this." Minerva sighed. She did know it, but there wasn't anything else the two of them had to discuss. They shared an uncomfortable silence. The spot was idyllic for quiet contemplation at least. The trees bent protectively around the grove and at midsummer the forest was teeming with vitality. Nearby a bush boasted a bumper crop of berries. It was probably one of the most beautiful arrival spots she had ever seen. Used to such luxuries, Avarus was studiously ignoring his surroundings, flicking his extinguished cigarette butt into the bushes. Once she was sure he wasn't watching, she transfigured it into a flower. "You never can help yourself." The distinct displacement of air was accompanied by the wry comment. 'You ponce!" She grabbed him into a hug. "Sending an invitation here three hours before you arrived. Do you know how many lies I told to get here?" "None or at least it should have been." He scolded. "Tell old Albus you were seeing an old friend." "Speaking of old friends..." Avarus interjected. The aristocrat painted a terrified look as the hug turned on him. "A handshake would suffice, thank you." "Forgive me for the trespass. The Italians have rubbed off on me. Where is Vermillion?" "A victim of your tardy notice. She'd already promised her daughter a visit to the menagerie." "And your familial responsibilities?" "Negligible as always. Trist is after me for a child, but I don't think she realizes what it means to have the Zabini heir." "The maternal instinct is on the rise, eh? What about you Minnie? Or do the children satisfy the nesting instinct?" "Not back two minutes and you're already teasing. " She shook her head. "Reprehensible really." Overwhelmed with the joy of being home and the congenial, familiar faces of his friends, Tom picked up the prissy girl and spun her around while she shrieked and beat at him with her fists. "Children." Avarus hissed. "We're not alone." Swiftly, Minerva was firmly back on the ground and two sharp pairs of eyes scanned the forest. "We'd best be going. Who knows who they're coming to meet..." "Who else would I be coming to meet?" Minerva had forgotten how the air vibrated between these two men. A thick mix of power, surpassed emotion and brittle tentativeness. It had undoubtedly worsened with time. "Harry." "Tom." "Who told you I would be here?" His eyes flickered over to Minerva who shook her head. The other Slytherin raised his hand. "You?" Minnie fumed. "Mr. Its-None-of-Our-Business? King of Discretion and Neutrality?" "I am entitled to a single moment of impetuous meddling. Now are you coming to lunch or not?" He preferred an elbow in her direction. Her mouth in a thin O of surprise, she took his arm and they apparated away. "Why here?" Harry asked, breaking the silence. "Why not just apparate or at least portkey into the Ministry." In answer, Tom turned to one of the thick berry patches and lifted a few branches away. They had bent over a simple stone marker that read "Reese Riddle" . He sank to his knees, one hand reverentially caressing the stone. "I had a private investigator find it while I was away. My father...you said I killed him and my grandparents?" "Not you. Lord Voldemort." "I would have. If I had known I would have. Is that why you never told me?" "No." A hand alighted on the younger man's shoulder. "I didn't want you to think you'd be abandoned. But at the time, I wasn't thinking about the future. You were a child and no child should think their parent abandoned them. I almost told you a half a dozen times as you got older, but there never seemed to be a good time." "What if I told you that I'd done it? That I'd killed them when I found out?" "I wouldn't believe you." The hand on his shoulder tightened. "You're mine. Here, in this time, you belong to me and not to the dubious legacy of the Riddle name." "When I went to the house, there was only this middle aged man there. Muggles age so differently from Muggles, I wasn't sure who he was. He had a full head of white hair. He was sitting on a chair, watching the sunset. When I walked up to him, I could see his glasses were on a table next to him. He squinted at me with bleary eyes. I could see myself in him. Around the nose and jaw line. And do you know what my first thought was when I realized who he was?" "What?" Asked softly with a tinge of weariness. "At least now I know I won't go bald, but I'm going to need glasses. " He snorted. "And wearing glasses is only going to make me look more like Harry, not more like this bastard." "Go on." "He asked me who I was and I told him that he wouldn't remember me. That'd we met a long time ago when I was a child. I asked him if he'd remarried. He must have been sleepy or else lonely because he wound up telling me all about his second wife and their children. The wife left him a few years back and none of his kids talk to him. Even his parents had passed away. He was a lonely, bitter old man, destined to live out his life in solitude. It wouldn't exactly have been some great vengeance to kill him then." "Life usually metes out its own punishments." "When I got up to leave, he stood up too. Only he got his glasses first and put them on. The deck had gone dark by then, but a few Muggle torches were lit around us. He asked me where exactly I knew him from. I told him we'd never really met, but that I had always wanted to meet him. "'What a good man you've become,' he said, 'your mother would have been proud.'" Tom stared at the marker. "Would you have, Mom? Would you be proud of me?" "I know she would have been. " Awkwardly, Tom turned under the grip of Harry's hand to stare up at him with beseeching eyes. "I've come home. I can't live away any longer. The Minister is grooming me as his replacement, after my successes in New York and Belize. I almost married one of the most beautiful and intelligent women in the Northern hemisphere. I've sampled food, wine, drugs and brothels from every area of the world. I have been lauded, nearly killed and been forced to kill. "I've lived, I've loved and I've come back. Are you proud of me?" "I have your picture hung up behind the counter of the shop as I have always done." Harry kept his hand on his shoulder. "Every day people see it and pump me for information about your whereabouts. How could I fail to be proud of you when the whole of wizarding England thinks you're their golden boy? Traipsing around the world, making peace agreements, helping the goblins rebuild the economy and of course, slaying the basilisk." "But I haven't changed. I am the same man I was when I left." "Not so much the same, I think. For one, you're thirty, not twenty. You're more confident, certainly smarter." "That is not what I meant." Though internally he preened with the compliments. "My heart is still the same." "Oh, Tom.." He withdrew his hand and Tom lowered his eyes to the ground. "I love you, Harry. But if I must, I will never mention it again after today. I have learned that I can live without having it though is it is a life a little less full. My other goals I have within my grasp. In a decade or two, I will be the most powerful man in England and one of the most powerful wizards, magically, in the world. That should be enough to satisfy any one person. I do not want to lose your support again and if that means closing off that piece of myself then I will." "I correct myself. You haven't changed. You're still very melodramatic for a Slytherin." Harry reached down and grabbed at Tom's arm, urging him upwards. "Not all of us can be blunt Gryffindors." He teased, surprised by the rough move and the proximity of the other man's body. "Some things never change." Long, pale fingers caressed his cheek. "Other things do." The kiss took Tom by surprise and it was several moments before he could respond, moving to plunder the mouth that opened readily for him. He didn't know what to do with his hands and he wound up settling them on the sharp points of Harry's hips, praying that this wouldn't scare him off. The older man pulled away from the kiss, only to enfold Tom in his arms. The embrace had the double sensation of the warm hug of a father and the heat of a lover's claim. Tom relished in the multiplicity of feeling, snuffling at Harry's collar to inhale the spice of his aftershave. "My boy." A hand laced through his perfect hair, mussing it beyond redemption. "My precious boy. I've given my life to making you happy and whole." "I'm sorry. I don't want to want this." He kept his face hidden, clasping the moment. "But you do. For many years now. And it's not going to just go away." "No." Delicately Harry drew up his face. Green eyes, death spell eyes, met and understood. "Then I will be this for you too." )*( next part last part << |